366 Sherlolly ficlets
by Dreamin
Summary: A Sherlolly ficlet for every day of the year, and an extra one for Leap Day. Unless stated, all ficlets are unrelated. Ratings vary, check the notes at the top.
1. Like Seeing the Moon During the Day

A/N: All prompts are from the book _A Creative Writer's Kit: Prompts & Practices_ by Judy Reeves. Each prompt has a date but I won't be doing them on that day or in order.

First up is for the January 5th prompt: Write about a day moon. Rated K.

* * *

"Like seeing the moon during the day."

"What was that, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, smirking.

"Nothing," Sherlock muttered. "Just thinking out loud."

Brandy in hand, his elder brother took the armchair across from his. "Thinking aloud while your gaze was on the estimable Dr. Hooper, very telling."

"My thoughts were not on Molly," Sherlock said, sulking.

"Little brother, I have known you your entire life – I know when you're lying." He settled back against the chair, still smirking. "Let me see if I can follow your train of thought. 'Like seeing the moon during the day,' and your eyes were on Molly. The moon is only seen during the day around the time of the full moon. It's sometimes called the 'children's moon,' since it is out when children are awake to see it."

"Thank you, Wikipedia," Sherlock muttered.

"People don't associate the moon with daylight hours," Mycroft continued, ignoring his taunt. "Therefore, a daytime moon is unexpected, and beautiful, if one likes that sort of thing." By his dismissive tone, Sherlock could tell his brother didn't. "So, beautiful and unexpected, like the aforementioned Molly at a Holmes Family Christmas Dinner."

"What do you mean, unexpected?" Violet said as she approached her two sons with a tray of appetizers. "Of course we'd invite Sherlock's fiancée."

"Unexpected that she actually agreed to it," Sherlock muttered.

"Coming here or marrying you?" Mycroft asked, grinning.

Sherlock looked back at Molly, who was on the other side of the room, talking to Siger. When he caught her eye, Molly gave him a loving smile, which Sherlock returned before he looked at Mycroft.

"Both."


	2. Should Have Stayed in the Bath

A/N: For the Jan 6th prompt - "Write about bathing." Rated M. The bath scene during "His Last Vow."

* * *

Never was Sherlock so glad to shut the door on his best friend. He'd had enough lectures, thank you very much. Stripping off his "Shezza" clothes, he filled the tub and got in.

As soon as his head was settled on the bath pillow, he went into his Mind Palace. The first thing he noticed was that the room labelled "Molly Hooper" had gotten bigger, again. Sighing quietly, he went into it.

Molly was standing there, looking like he'd just seen her – ready to commit murder, the victim being Sherlock Holmes. _God, she's gorgeous when she's angry,_ his less-than-helpful id supplied. _She is,_ his ego admitted, _but it's not helpful when she's angry at me._

His id took over, picturing Molly in her ponytail … and nothing else. Even in his Mind Palace, he could feel himself stirring. Mind Palace Molly was shy, to the point of covering her breasts with her hands. Sherlock was having none of that. He pulled her close and kissed her softly, her hands moving up to rest on his bare chest just as his moved down to grasp her pert little bum.

His cock was rock-hard now, one hand stroking it while he pictured Molly in his arms and his mouth on her. She tasted sweet, like honey or ice cream, _no, like chocolate. Like her beautiful chocolate eyes, which I desperately want to drown in. Someday…_

A knock on the door dragged him out of his Mind Palace and away from sweet, supple Molly. It wasn't enough, however, to get him to remove his hand from his cock – he knew it was Janine and she would just think he was worked up thinking about her.

When he was alone that night, he laid down on his bed and went right back to his Mind Palace. Molly was beneath him now, her soft sighs and little moans sending him even closer to the edge. When she came, so did he. At the sight of his splattered hand and stomach, all he could think was that he should have stayed in the bath.


	3. The Best News A Dead Man Could Get

A/N: For the January 4th prompt: "A year after your death..." Rated K.

* * *

Molly Hooper stood in front of the polished black headstone, seeing the reflection of herself in her jeans and oversized yellow jumper. She swallowed hard. "It's been a year, Sherlock," she said to his carved name. "A year since you…" Molly took a deep breath then smiled weakly. "I wanted to tell you that I've met someone. His name's Tom. He's … nothing like you. He's sweet … not that you can't be sweet."

"I really, really can't, Molly," drawled a familiar voice behind her.

Molly whirled around to see Sherlock standing under the nearby tree. He was dressed in khakis and a blue chambray shirt, his black curls replaced with straight ginger hair and matching stubble. Molly's face lit up as she saw he was apparently unharmed. He didn't move but she ran to him and hugged him tightly anyway. After a moment, he held her close.

"Has it really been a year?" he whispered into her hair. "It feels like an eternity."

"Longer," Molly whispered. She pulled back enough to look at him. "But what are you doing here? You're not done?"

"No, I'm not," Sherlock said quietly, "but I had to see you." He smiled weakly. "And it looks like I'm just in time. Molly … this year of playing dead has taught me what I truly need in my life, and you are at the top of the list. Will you wait for me?"

She wanted to say yes more than anything, but one thing was holding her back. "For how long?"

"A year, eighteen months at the most. Moriarty's web will be completely dismantled by then." He raised a hand to stroke her cheek. "I will come back and the first thing I'll do is drag you to the nearest church."

Molly grinned. "Believe me, Sherlock, there will be no dragging necessary." She kissed him softly. "Yes, I'll wait."

Sherlock grinned. "That's the best news a dead man could get."


	4. On the Eve of the Funeral

A/N: For the March 17th prompt: "On the eve of the funeral." Rated K.

* * *

"Are you going to it?" Molly asked the dead man sitting on the other side of her kitchen peninsula.

"I think that would raise more than a few eyebrows," Sherlock said, smirking, as he sipped his coffee.

Molly rolled her eyes. "I meant in disguise. How many people get to attend their own funeral?"

"Too risky."

" **You're** calling something too risky?" She grinned. "I should mark this date on the calendar."

"I'll save the rest of my nine lives for Moriarty's web."

"I always knew you were a cat."

Sherlock gave her a little half-smile. "I'll take that as a compliment. Are you going?"

"Of course. I have to play silly Molly Hooper, the girl with the ridiculous crush, now grieving for what might have been." The bitterness in her tone was clear.

He reached across the peninsula to take her hand. "You don't have to live down to other people's expectations, Molly. You're not silly." He gave her another half-smile. "And crushes are only ridiculous if they're one-way. Yours is not."

Molly stared at him. "It's … it's not?"

Sherlock just sipped his coffee, his eyes dancing.


	5. Totally Tubular

A/N: For the February 15th prompt: "Write about a brief encounter." Pre-canon. Rated K.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes absolutely, completely, entirely hated taking the Tube. He preferred cabs. _More convenient – they take you straight to your destination, instead of the closest Tube station. Don't have to talk to anyone. Don't even have to look at another person besides the cabbie._

Sherlock Holmes was currently in the middle of a crowded train, being forced to endure commuters and tourists alike due to the city's cab drivers going on strike. _All of these people could use a bath and none of them know how to cover their mouths when they cough. If I don't bring home five new diseases, I'll be shocked._

The train came to the next station. Hardly anyone got off but even more people got on. Sherlock felt himself pushed from behind and he would have fallen on top of the petite brunette in front of him if he hadn't grabbed her shoulder first.

"Sorry," he muttered when he was able to get his footing back.

"It's okay," she said, smiling. "I'll be glad when the cabbie strike is over – the trains are just too crowded right now."

"You take the Tube regularly?" Now that he wasn't falling on top of her, he had a chance to deduce her. _Twenty-six. Single. Ginger cat. Both parents dead. Self-conscious about her figure. Pathologist? Interesting._

"Yes. A girl can't be too careful these days, and getting into a cab by myself doesn't sound like the safest idea."

Sherlock scoffed. "The vast majority of cabbies are harmless. Statistically, you're more in danger from your workplace's IT guy than you are from the average cabbie."

She smiled a bit. "I'll remember that." The train came to the next stop and she grinned at him. "My stop. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow if the strike hasn't ended."

He couldn't help grinning back. "Maybe."

The woman squeezed her way past the crowd and out of the train then the doors closed.

 _Oh darn, I didn't get her name._ He held up the badge he'd pickpocketed from her purse, grinning to himself. _But I did get this. Molly Hooper. Hmm. I should be a good citizen and return this to Bart's tomorrow._


	6. His Biggest Weakness

A/N: For the Oct 9th prompt: "(blank) are my weakness." An alternate ending to the path lab scene in "His Last Vow." Rated T.

* * *

Sherlock watched Molly from where he stood in the middle of the path lab. The others had left, John needing to take Mary to her doctor's appointment. Molly had said she'd take Sherlock home. She was currently using the microscope to look at something-or-other, completely ignoring him.

He was having none of it. "I'm not as high as I act."

"I tested your urine," Molly said, not looking up from the microscope. Her irritation was clear. "If anything, you're higher than you act."

"Molly-"

"Don't 'Molly' me," she said, finally looking at him. Her brown eyes were like frozen earth in the middle of winter. "How can you destroy yourself like this?"

"It's for a case."

"That's what you told John, he didn't believe it either. What's really going on, Sherlock?"

"I'm telling you the truth. I needed to get the attention of a man who preys on people's weaknesses. Being a junkie was safer."

"Safer than what?" she asked dubiously.

He approached her cautiously, not wanting to get slapped again. Her eyes widened with every step he took in her direction. "Safer for everyone else. My real weaknesses are the people I care about – John, Mrs. Hudson, Graham, even Mycroft." Sherlock stood in front of her, willing her to understand.

"So, you'd risk overdosing to save them?"

"I'd risk anything to save them."

Molly looked away. "You could have found another way," she said quietly. She tried to move past him but he blocked her path with his arm.

"I am sorry about one thing I did today," he murmured.

She looked up at him, surprised. "Just one?"

"I'm sorry I announced to everyone that your engagement was over. And I'm sorry I lied – I'm actually happy it's over."

Molly sighed quietly. "Yes, I know – this means I have more time to moon after you and do whatever you ask of me."

Sherlock smiled a bit. "While you were wearing that ring, his ring, you were unobtainable. Someone else had you, so I had lost my chance. But now, well, things are very different, aren't they?"

With each word from his mouth, her eyes widened. "Sherlock…"

"You're my biggest weakness, Molly Hooper," he murmured, dropping his voice an octave. "I'd get on my knees right now if I thought it would make you forgive me."

Molly blinked rapidly, reminding him of his own "buffering" state, then she shook her head a bit. "This isn't you, it's the heroin talking."

"Ask me when I'm sober what my biggest weakness is," Sherlock said. "My answer won't change."

* * *

He'd been out of the hospital for a week before she came to Baker Street.

"Sherlock," she asked over tea, "what's your biggest weakness?"

He smiled at her softly. "It's still you, Molly."


	7. A Bright Future Indeed

A/N: For the prompt for March 21st - "Write about a fortune-teller." Non-TAB Victorian. Rated K.

* * *

It was a beautiful day for the circus to be in town and Dr. Molly Hooper was quite enjoying herself. She was with her friend, Mrs. Mary Watson, and Mary's three-year-old daughter Rosamunde. Young Rosie was currently asking to see the elephants. Molly had no interest in them, so she decided to take a stroll through the midway while Mary and Rosie saw the elephants.

One tent caught Molly's eye. The wooden sign in front advertised Mme. Luna, Fortune-Teller. Molly didn't believe in divination but her curiosity won out. She entered the tent to find it empty except for an old woman seated at a table with a crystal ball and a deck of tarot cards.

"Hello, my dear," Mme. Luna said, smiling at her. She looked to be about eighty, with snow-white hair, a raspy voice, a hunched back, crooked yellow teeth, and shrewd blue-green eyes.

 _I know those eyes,_ Molly thought, managing to keep the smile off her face.

"Sit down," Sherlock Holmes rasped through the false teeth.

Molly sat down across from her disguised friend. He had said something the day before about a case involving the circus, but she had no idea he'd disguise himself as a female fortune-teller.

"Give me your hand," he said, holding out a hand knotted with arthritis.

She gave him her left hand, palm facing up. Sherlock traced over the lines in her palm with his right index finger.

"Ah, I see you are a lady doctor."

Molly groaned inwardly. She hated that term and the usual condescension that went with it, and Sherlock knew it. "Yes, I'm a pathologist."

"Hmm. I see you will have a long and healthy life."

"That's good," Molly said, amused.

"Now, for your Heart Line." He traced it slowly. "You are currently unattached, but there is a man of your acquaintance who would like to change that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is there now?"

"Yes, a man who loves you most ardently. He wishes to make you Dr. Molly Holmes."

"Well, I will be certain to tell Mycroft yes the next time I see him."

"Not Mycroft, me," Sherlock said, irritated, the raspiness gone. "I'm the one who loves you."

Molly grinned at him cheekily. "You? Sherlock Holmes? The man who swore off all emotions as unnecessary?"

Sherlock sighed heavily. "Yes, fine, I did say that but I was mistaken." He took both of her hands. "My darling Molly, I love you more than life itself. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She smiled at him tenderly. "I love you, Sherlock. Of course I'll be your wife. I'd kiss you but I don't want to ruin your disguise."

He grinned at her then the raspy voice was back. "I see a bright future for you, Dr. Hooper. A bright future indeed."


	8. Could I Have This Dance

A/N: For the December 29th prompt: "These are the delicacies of a ruined evening." Rated K.

* * *

"I can't believe Tom tried to pull a Mr. Rochester on me," Molly muttered as she used her fork to spear a just-cut piece of pork with more force than was necessary. She was on her third porkchop and didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon.

"In his defense, and I can't believe I just said that either, he didn't think a wedding that took place in a Las Vegas chapel drive-thru was valid in the UK." Sherlock was working his way through a heaping plate of potatoes au gratin.

Molly rolled her eyes then smiled at him brightly. "Well, thank God for you, Sherlock, or I would've actually married the man."

Sherlock chuckled. "A fate worse than death, surely." He took a sip of the champagne, then glanced over at the remaining case of bottles. "We'll be drinking this for the next month."

"At least. I'm so glad the Watsons took all the salmon home with them, I hate salmon." Molly's eyes strayed to the cake. "I don't know what to do with that. Who would want enough cake to feed an army?"

"My brother," Sherlock said, smirking.

Molly giggled. "Maybe I'll offer it to him." The pile of gifts next to the cake was still untouched. "I'm going to have to return all of those."

"You can keep mine."

She looked back at him, surprised. "Why? What is it?"

He got up and retrieved the professionally-wrapped gift then returned to their table. Sherlock set the gift next to Molly's plate then sat down. "Open it."

Utterly confused and very curious, Molly very carefully opened the present, wanting to save the pretty paper and ribbon. Inside the box was a yellow post-it with the words "Look Up." Molly looked up to see Sherlock standing beside her, holding out a hand to her. With his other hand, he held up his mobile. Molly could see his iTunes app was up and it was ready to play Anne Murray's "Could I Have This Dance."

Molly's face lit up then she took his hand and stood. Sherlock started the song then set his mobile on the table and took her in his arms, holding her close as they danced to the song.

Molly laid her head on his shoulder. _The worst day of my life has turned into the best night of my life._

When the song got to the chorus, Sherlock sang softly. "Could I have this dance for the rest of my life? Would you be my partner every night? When we're together, it feels so right. Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?"

She knew, absolutely knew, that he wasn't just singing along. "Yes, Sherlock," she murmured then felt him kiss her hair.

 _Definitely the best night of my life._


	9. What He'll Miss Most

A/N: For the April 6th prompt - "Write what you'll miss when you die." Rated K.

* * *

"What are you going to miss most?" Molly asked.

It was the morning after Sherlock's "death," and she was still reeling. Molly could only imagine what Sherlock's state of mind was, mainly because he'd barely said a word since she snuck him into her flat a few hours after his fall. He'd locked himself in her bedroom and didn't come out until an hour ago.

Sherlock was seated at her peninsula, digging into his steak and eggs, his second cup of coffee in front of him. He looked up at her, confused. "About what?"

"About being, well, alive. Things are going to be very different for you now, until you take down Moriarty's web."

He sighed quietly. "I was trying not to dwell on that."

Molly swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

"John, Mrs. Hudson, Graham, Baker Street, and my violin."

 _Not me?_ "I'll keep an eye on all of them for you."

He didn't say anything for a moment. "Thank you."

* * *

Sherlock was gone when Molly woke up the next morning. _He didn't even say goodbye. I guess he was done needing me._ When she went to her bedroom, she noticed a folded note on her jewelry box. With suddenly trembling hands, she unfolded it.

 _Molly,_

 _I'm not going to miss you because a part of you will always be with me – I took one of your lockets and a lock of your hair while you slept. I'll text you whenever I can. Be safe. Take care of yourself._

 _I'll see you when all of this is over and we can talk about living arrangements. Yours have to change. My bed is more than big enough for two._

 _I love you, Molly Hooper._

 _Sherlock_

She felt happy tears slide down her face as she clutched the note to her heart. _Oh, Sherlock…_


	10. Late Night Call

A/N: For the December 11th prompt - "Write about a late night phone call." Rated T.

* * *

After Sherrinford, Sherlock refused to call Molly with anything other than good news. He could and did text bad news to her on occasion, but when he spoke to her, he was determined to never hear her cry because of something he said again.

It was late at night, three months since that earth-shattering call, and Sherlock was stuck in The Middle of Nowhere, USA on a case. He missed his friends but he missed his girlfriend even more. He dialed Molly's number without checking the time.

She picked up on the third ring. "Sherlock?" she asked sleepily.

"Hello, sweetheart," Sherlock murmured, smiling to himself. He was leaning against the headboard of the hotel room bed, his legs stretched out in front of him, wearing only his black silk boxers.

"Sherlock, why are you calling at … 5:11 in the morning?"

He winced. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ "I, erm, forgot you're six hours ahead of me."

Molly's amusement was clear in her tone. "Now you've deleted time zones?"

Sherlock chuckled softly. "Not quite. Ugh, I've been in the States too long, I'm craving fried chicken and waffles, and I don't even like waffles."

Molly giggled. "Just think, soon you'll be eating that horrid 'cheese' in a spray can."

"Bite your tongue, woman," Sherlock muttered. _Too late, but she doesn't need to know that._

She laughed softly. "I love you. When do you think you'll be home?" It was the same question she asked every time he called.

"I don't know, but it can't be soon enough," he answered like he always did. A new resolve suddenly filled him. "A fortnight," he said firmly. "If I don't have this case wrapped up by then, to hell with it, I'm coming home. I was only doing this as a favor for Mycroft – Interpol can find the stolen Monet."

"Good." He could hear the smile in her voice, then she lowered it. "Sherlock, when you come back, I've been thinking that we should, um, take our intimacy to the next level." After the dramatic start to their romance, they had wanted to take things slow, never going beyond some very nice make out sessions on Sherlock's couch.

Sherlock simultaneously went into buffering mode and became hard as a rock. Consequently, it took him almost an entire minute to reply. "I … erm … I think that would be a good idea."

"Still want to wait a fortnight?" She was now grinning wickedly, he could hear it.

"I'm booking the next flight back to London as soon as we hang up."


	11. 01 Befriending the Man in the Moon

A/N: For the March 10th prompt: "Give me a moon story." Rated K.

The prompt asked for a moon story, so here's the first part of one I've had in my head for years. If my readers like this, there will be one or two more in this little universe.

* * *

Ever since Molly was very young, her mother encouraged her to think of the Man in the Moon as her friend. "He's always there," her mum would say, "watching over you. Even when you can't see him, he's there. Tell him your secrets, your worries, everything. He'll always listen."

So, every night, while other children were saying their bedtime prayers, young Molly was sitting on her window seat and telling her special friend about her day.

"Tommy pulled my hair at school today. Teacher says it's 'cause he likes me." She scowled in confusion. "But if he likes me, why would he make me cry? He's a … a poophead! Oh! I'm sorry, Mr. Moon! Mummy says I shouldn't say that word."

* * *

"Mummy and Daddy were dancing in the kitchen today. They do that a lot. They kiss a lot too." Molly made a disgusted face. "It's icky. Mummy says I should be glad they kiss a lot. She said I wouldn't be here if they didn't. Do you know what that means, Mr. Moon? I don't. Grammy says the stork brought me. What does kissing have to do with storks?"

* * *

The worst night of her young life, she curled up on the window seat beneath the full moon and sobbed. Her heart hurt too much to even tell her special friend what had happened. When her tears had subsided, she felt a hand lightly stroke her hair. Thinking it was her father, she looked up and gasped.

A stranger was sitting next to her. Like every adult she had ever met, he was tall, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His curly hair was as black as the sky between the stars and his eyes were swirly blue and green all mixed up. They were kind, though. Mummy always told her not to pay attention to people's clothes but she couldn't help it. His jacket and trousers were pale grey and his shirt was white. The man glowed faintly and as far as she knew, nobody could do that.

He smiled at her gently. "Hello, Molly."

"You know my name?" she asked, shocked.

"Of course. Friends know each other's names."

"You're not my friend," she said firmly. "You're a stranger. Mummy says … said I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." She swallowed hard, wishing the strange man would just go away.

"But I'm not a stranger, I'm your Mr. Moon."

Molly stared at him. "Prove it."

He chuckled. "There's the budding scientist I know. You talk to me every night before you go to sleep. You told me about the day Tommy pulled your hair, the time Jimmy pretended to be your friend, the day Eurus bullied you into saying you still slept with your teddy bear every night." Molly swallowed hard then he added, "You also tell me about your friends Mary, Johnny, and Greg, and your teacher, Mrs. Hudson."

"You're … you're really him?" she asked, amazed. She looked out the window and the full moon was still shining bright.

The Man in the Moon chuckled and she turned back to him. "I live on the moon but I'm not the moon itself." He gently took her small hand in both of his. "I know what you've lost today and I'm deeply sorry, Molly. I know how much your heart is breaking, that's why I had to come down here and see you."

Hope started to rise in her chest. "Can you bring my mummy back, Mr. Moon?"

He smiled sadly. "I'd do anything for my Molly, but that is beyond my powers, I'm sorry."

"It's … it's okay…" Molly suddenly felt very tired and she was glad she was already in her pajamas. "Will you stay until I fall asleep, Mr. Moon?"

"Of course," he said, smiling gently. "Molly?"

"Yes?"

"You can call me Sherlock."


	12. 02 Childhood's End

A/N: Prompt fill for February 5th - "When I awoke the next morning..." Thank you to my readers, you've convinced me to keep going. There's at least one more part after this.

* * *

Sherlock came to see Molly every night. He always seemed to know exactly what she needed, whether it was a hug, a laugh, or a shoulder to cry on. Molly cried a lot during the first few months. Sometimes she cried at school and other kids would laugh. Jimmy laughed once and Mary smacked him upside the head. She got in trouble but she told Molly she'd do it again and again.

"Mary's a good friend," Sherlock said, grinning, when Molly told him that night.

"She is. Johnny said she fights better than any boy. He was grinning when he said that."

Sherlock smiled a bit. "I do believe Johnny likes Mary."

"Eww..."

He laughed. "There's nothing wrong with liking someone, Molly."

"They're friends," she said firmly. "That's good enough."

* * *

It was close to the first anniversary of her mother's death when Molly first mentioned Sherlock to her father. She had never even thought about hiding her friendship with the Man in the Moon from him, it had just never come up before. Naturally, Mr. Hooper thought she was talking about an imaginary friend. When Molly insisted he was real, her father became quite stern.

"He's not real, Molly. You need to stop this childish nonsense. Girls your age don't have imaginary friends."

Molly fled to her room in tears. It was just after tea, too early for Sherlock to come see her. She threw herself onto her bed and eventually cried herself to sleep.

When she woke up the next morning, she almost started crying again when she realized she missed her chance to see him, but then she saw a note on the nightstand. She picked it up and unfolded it.

 _My Molly,_

 _I heard what your father said. I'm real, you know I am, but perhaps I shouldn't come to visit you anymore. You can still talk to me like you used to and I will still watch over you, I promise._

 _Yours always,_

 _Sherlock_

Anger like Molly had never felt before filled her. "It's not the same and you know it! You're supposed to be my friend! I hate you! I'm never talking to you again!"

That night, for the first time, she closed the curtains without even looking at the moon. Once more, she cried herself to sleep.

It would be another twenty years before she gave the moon more than just a passing glance.


	13. 03 Pre-Dawn Reunion

A/N: For the Nov 9th prompt - "It's what I do at 2:30 in the morning when I can't sleep." Rated T. Sequel to The Girl Who Befriended the Man in the Moon and Childhood's End.

* * *

Molly Hooper tossed and turned in her bed, desperately trying to find a more comfortable position. None of them worked. Groaning in frustration, she sat up and glared at her bedroom window. The curtains were drawn but moonlight still shone through around the edges.

She was perceptive enough to realize that her occasional insomnia was tied to the full moon. It wasn't every full moon that kept her awake, but if there was a night she just couldn't sleep, there was a full moon out.

 _You know why you can't sleep and it has nothing to do with your room being brighter_ , a little voice in her head said. _You're feeling guilty for how you've treated Sherlock for the past twenty years._

Molly ignored the voice and got out of bed then went to the kitchen and pulled a pint of Chocolate Therapy out of the freezer. "Ben & Jerry, save me," she muttered as she got a spoon out of the drawer then hopped onto the counter.

 _Why can't he just leave me alone? I know he's always watching me, just as he said he would, and I even welcomed that sensation for a time when I was younger, but ever since Tom came and left…_ She sighed quietly. "It feels a lot more intrusive."

"That was never my intention," a voice she had never wanted to hear again said from the doorway.

Molly shut her eyes and counted to ten before opening them. The man she once thought of as her best friend was standing in front of her. Twenty years had had no effect on his appearance whatsoever, except to make his eyes sadder.

She glared at him. "What are you doing here, Sherlock?"

"I had to see you," he said gently. "I'm worried about you, Molly."

"I'm fine," she said firmly. "You should know that, you're been watching me."

"Eating ice cream out of the container at 2:30 in the morning isn't the action of someone who's 'fine.'"

"It's Ben & Jerry's, you're supposed to eat it out of the container."

"Molly…"

"It's been twenty years, why in the bloody hell are you here now?" Getting worked up, she set her pint and spoon down then hopped off the counter and advanced on Sherlock. She only came up to his shoulder, but that didn't stop her from poking him in the chest with her index finger. "It's been twenty years, what makes tonight any different than last night or, oh I don't know, the night you abandoned me?"

Sherlock grabbed her wrist and held it away from his chest in a gentle but unyielding grasp. "Because I see how lonely you are, even with your friends, and it breaks my heart. I've given you all the support I can from a distance, but it's not the same."

Molly's eyes widened. "You … that is the exact same thing I said twenty years ago and you wouldn't listen!"

"Your father was right – having an 'imaginary' friend would have kept you from making real friends. The last thing I wanted was to hold you back, Molly."

"Sherlock, what held me back was the fear that any new friend I made would abandon me just like my best friend did."

He stared at her. "I'm your best friend?"

She swallowed hard. "You were, that ended when you left. I haven't had a best friend since. John, Mary, and Greg are good friends, really good friends, but I've never been as close to them as I was to you. John and Mary are married now. Good call on that, by the way."

"What about Tom?"

Molly laughed bitterly. "Tom definitely wasn't my best friend. I could never open up to him, not completely. When I realized he was never going to be my best friend, I called off the engagement."

"That was a year ago. You haven't dated since."

"Yes, well, I realized I was comparing every man I dated to my ideal man and they all failed spectacularly. Since there really isn't a man who can measure up, what's the point of dating?"

"Rejecting a man just because he doesn't live up to some fantasy isn't fair, to you or him."

"Oh, my ideal man isn't a fantasy."

"Who is it? John? Greg?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "You, you clot."

He stared at her. "What?"

She smiled weakly. "Is it really that surprising? I hated you when you left me, but I've had you on a pedestal for over twenty years, Sherlock. You were the kindest, sweetest man I had ever met. When puberty came, I realized how attractive you were. You were my first crush, the only one that really mattered, but I was still too mad at you to say anything."

"Molly, I … I don't know what to say…"

"Then don't say anything," she said as she pulled her wrist out of his grasp, suddenly irritated. "I'm going back to bed."

He gently grabbed her shoulder. "I … I want to keep seeing you." At her raised eyebrow, he added, "In person, I mean. I want us to be friends again."

"I'll think about it."

"Molly…"

"Come back tomorrow night and we'll talk."

He blinked in surprise. "I'll be here."


	14. 04 Anticipation

A/N: For the Dec 31st prompt: "In anticipation of the night." Rated T. Sequel to Pre-Dawn Reunion.

* * *

Molly was grateful she had the next day off – she knew she'd be too distracted by thoughts of Sherlock to concentrate on her work. After checking the clock for the fifth time that hour, she decided she needed a distraction.

Shopping with Mary and Rosie proved to be a great distraction, until the three of them sat down for lunch at the food court in the mall, Rosie in a highchair. Mary fed her daughter toddler food while the two of them ate their burgers.

"There's something different about you, Molly." She grinned. "Have you met someone?"

Molly choked on her drink. "What? No, no … where would you get that idea?"

"You have a dreamy look in your eyes, the kind I probably get when I think about John." Mary smirked. "It means you're picturing someone without their clothes."

"Oh God…" Molly felt her cheeks flame. "I wasn't! I swear!" _At least, not until this moment…_

Mary laughed. "Uh huh. So, who's the lucky guy?"

"Oh, um, you wouldn't know him."

"What's his name?"

"Sherlock."

"Okay, Sherlock what?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to tell you his full name, I don't want you googling him." _Not that he has a last name, or an internet presence, for that matter._

"Fine, tell me what he looks like."

"Tall, dark, gorgeous." Molly smiled a bit. "Curly black hair I want to run my fingers through, blue-green eyes I'd love to drown in. The most beautiful face, like it was carved from marble or something. I'm not entirely sure of his physique since I haven't seen him in anything but a suit, but I want to kiss every inch of him regardless."

Mary giggled. "Oh yeah, you've got it bad. Where did you meet him?"

"Oh, um, on the Tube. We got on and off at the same stops."

"And now you want to get off with him again?" There was an impish sparkle in Mary's eyes.

Molly felt her cheeks flame again. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"So, what's stopping you?"

"I … um … haven't known him very long, and I've never been the type of woman to get into bed with a bloke on the first date."

Mary waved a hand in dismissal. "Nobody said it was a rule you can't shag on the first date. Just do what feels right."

 _Do I have the courage to even ask Sherlock to kiss me? I guess there's only one way to find out. Tonight's going to be very interesting._


	15. 05 Longing

A/N: For the March 13th prompt - "Write about a longing." Rated M. Sequel to Anticipation.

* * *

Sherlock slept, as always, during the day. In his dreams, as had been the case for the past thirty-one years, he saw Molly. In the past, it was brief flashes of things she was doing during the day. Ever since she'd flowered into womanhood, though, his dreams had taken on another aspect entirely – scenes of what he'd like to do with her.

Most of them were simple, sweet things – sitting with her while she talked about her day, waking up to her beautiful face, dancing with her in his arms. They were happy dreams and deep down, he fervently hoped that someday, he would get to have those moments with her while he was awake.

Then there were the more intimate dreams. After finally being in Molly's presence again, his dream that day was firmly in that category.

 _She was asleep in her bed and he lay next to her, facing her, his arm around her waist as he watched her sleep. After a moment, he bent his head to kiss her shoulder. Neither of them had a stitch on and Sherlock decided he preferred it that way – the feeling of her bare skin against his was exquisite._

 _Her sleepy chuckle was the sweetest music to his ears. "I should've known better than to try to sleep when you're around."_

" _Just worshipping my goddess the way she deserves," Sherlock murmured, kissing his way up her neck. He could feel her fingers play with his curls and he smiled to himself. His hand lightly ran down her side, his fingers barely tracing over her skin, but Molly still jumped a bit when he found a ticklish spot._

" _Not fair," she murmured, "you're not ticklish."_

 _He chuckled and she lightly tugged on his curls until he lifted his head to kiss her deeply. She kissed him back with a passion he never thought he would be fortunate enough to receive from her. Molly pulled back when she needed air, her gaze soft as she took in his features._

" _Promise me something, Sherlock," she murmured._

" _Anything," he said immediately. "Name it and it'll be done."_

" _Promise me you'll never abandon me again. It was hard enough to lose my best friend, but to lose my best friend and the man I love would break me."_

" _I promise," he murmured. "Nothing will ever separate us again." He turned her onto her back then kissed her again as his hand moved between her legs, finding her already wet for him. "God, Molly…" He stroked her clit and she let out the most beautiful little moans, the sound alone making him even harder than before._

" _Do you need me as much as I need you?" she murmured. One of her small hands lowered to wrap around his cock. "Mmm, I think you do."_

 _Sherlock shivered. "I always need you," he whispered. "In my bed, in my arms, in my heart. You are my weakness and my strength, my making and my undoing. You, Molly Hooper, are the sun in my dark world – bright, shining, and warm."_

 _She gazed at him, her eyes filling with happy tears, then she pulled him on top of her. Sherlock went willingly, bracing his weight on his arms so as not to crush her small, delicate body with his much larger one._

 _Molly appreciated his consideration, he knew. She showed it by running her hands down his back then grabbing his arse, making him groan._

" _Molly… God, I need you…"_

" _Then take me, Sherlock," she murmured. She reached between them to wrap her hand around his cock again and guided him to her entrance._

 _He slid into her in one long thrust, her hot, wet cunt stretching around him, her face buried in his shoulder. Sherlock held her close, waiting for her sign. At her nod, he started to thrust slowly and deeply, moaning at the pure pleasure that raced through him._

 _Molly met his thrusts as she left soft kisses on his collarbone. After one more on the hollow of his throat, she lifted her head to gaze at him. "I love you, Sherlock."_

" _I love you too, Molly. My Molly." He lowered his head. Just as their lips met…_

He woke up.

Sherlock groaned quietly, realizing simultaneously that not only was the beautiful moment he'd just had with Molly only a dream, he was rock hard and due to see the love of his life momentarily.

"I can't go to her like this…" _No choice but to take matters in hand, as it were._ _I hope she can forgive me for being a little late._


	16. 06 Supplicant

A/N: For the September 11th prompt - "I don't remember." Rated T. Sequel to Longing.

* * *

Molly got home just before sunset. Grateful that she had already taken a shower at Bart's, she went straight to her bedroom and tried to find something appropriate to wear. Eventually, she settled on jeans and her coziest jumper, the one that always made her feel like she was wrapped up in a hug. By the time she was redressed and putting on her cat slippers, it was a half-hour after sunset and there was no sign of Sherlock.

 _Where is he? I thought he'd be here by now._ She went to the kitchen and put the kettle on. After feeding Toby and making tea once the kettle had boiled, Molly was really starting to wonder where he was.

"Molly?" came his voice from the bedroom.

She raised an eyebrow. _He expected to find me in there?_ "In the kitchen," she called out.

Sherlock walked into the kitchen looking like Molly had never seen him. He wore the same grey suit as always, but this time his cheeks were flushed, his curls were disheveled, and he had more than the usual number of shirt buttons undone, not that Molly was complaining.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" she asked gently. _Maybe he's ill. Can the Man in the Moon get sick?_

"What?" he asked, surprised. "What makes you think I'm not?"

"Well, I thought you'd be here at sunset, that was almost an hour ago, your cheeks are red, your hair's a mess, and you missed a couple more buttons."

If anything, his cheeks turned redder. "I … erm … overslept so I got dressed in a hurry."

She gently took his hand. "You don't need to lie, Sherlock."

"I do when the truth is embarrassing." He looked down at their joined hands. _Her hand fits perfectly in mine._

Molly smiled a bit. "What could you possibly be embarrassed about?"

"I feel the same emotions as you, Molly – fear, happiness, sadness, embarrassment."

"What about love and desire?" she asked, infinitely curious.

 _If you only knew._ "Of course."

Molly nodded then picked up the teacups and gave him one. "C'mon, we have a lot to talk about." She led him to the sofa in the sitting room and they sat down.

Sherlock didn't trust himself to sit too close. Images from the dream kept running through his head and he was certain he'd grab Molly and kiss her hard if she touched him again.

She smiled a bit as she sipped her tea. "Children take so much on faith – I never thought to ask you questions about your life."

He smiled back, allowing himself to relax. "But now you're curious?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," she said, grinning.

Sherlock chuckled. "Alright, ask."

"I've done some reading about the Man in the Moon. Were you punished for something you did on Earth?"

His face fell. "Starting with the hard questions, I see." Sherlock sighed heavily. "Yes, but it's been so long that I don't remember what I did. I don't remember anything of my life before I became the Man in the Moon, even my name. 'Sherlock' was something one of the other moon people called me as a joke – the name means 'blond hair.' It stuck and now it's the only name I know."

She took his hand again and squeezed it gently. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be," he said softly. "Since I don't remember, I don't miss the life I had. What bothers me is not knowing what sin I committed. It must have been very grave for me to be sentenced to an eternity in exile. To know that I was capable of some atrocity scares me."

"But you must have changed," she said gently. "You can't be the same person now that you were then." _I wouldn't love you if you were. Wait, love? Where'd that come from?_

"Who do people think I was?"

"Cain, Pontius Pilate, a few others."

He shook his head a bit. "I know Cain and Pilate's names and I know their stories, but neither of them feels like they were mine. I could be wrong, of course. It's been so long that hearing my own name wouldn't jar my memory."

"How long have you been on the moon?"

"Thousands of years."

She stared at him then shook her head. "Then you could have been either of them, or anyone, really. Are you sure you were punished?"

Sherlock nodded. "That's the one thing that has stayed with me. In time, I might forget that too."

"What exactly do you do up there?"

"My main role is to observe mankind, but I can interfere when I need to."

"Interfere? How?"

He smiled a bit and Molly saw a twinkle in his eye. "I can influence people, just enough to make them reconsider."

She stared at him again. "Have you ever done that to me?"

He stared back. "God, no, why would I? You're so good … and perfect … too perfect, really. I may live on the moon, but you're the one that's out of reach. I'm a supplicant kneeling before a goddess, hoping for some small sign that I'm in your favor."

Molly's eyes were like saucers. "Sherlock … what exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm in love with you, Molly. I have been for years."


	17. 07 Worth Waiting For

A/N: For the May 30th prompt - "If I could do it over again." Rated T. Immediately follows Supplicant.

* * *

Molly couldn't believe her ears. "Sherlock…"

"Molly, please, let me speak. I'm not confused about my feelings and this is not something that came to me all of a sudden. I loved you as a friend since you first started talking to me every night. When you became an adult, I realized my love for you was turning romantic."

"I … I don't know what to say."

"Say what you feel," he urged gently.

She shook her head. "I think we need to talk about that night."

Sherlock swallowed hard. "I knew my decision would hurt you, even as I wrote the letter, but I truly felt at the time it was for the best. I'm so sorry, Molly. If I could do it over again, I never would have left you."

Molly searched his eyes for some sign he was deceiving her but all she saw was open, honest regard and a love so intense she had to look away. She looked down at their still-joined hands. "I always felt you watching me, even when I didn't want you to."

"I never watch you when it's inappropriate – when you're undressed or when you're … with someone."

She looked up at that. "Never?"

"Never. I respect you, Molly."

"Have you ever wanted to?" she asked softly. His resulting blush told her everything she needed to know. "There's nothing wrong with wanting, Sherlock."

"It's inappropriate," he said firmly. "I have no claim to you."

Molly took a deep breath then smiled softly. "I wouldn't say that."

Sherlock stared at her. "You wouldn't?"

"You've known me my whole life but I feel like I'm only starting to know you again. Relating to you as an adult is so different. It'll take time for my feelings to equal yours," she smiled softly, "but I think I will catch up."

It seemed to take Sherlock a moment to fully grasp what she was saying, then he gave her the biggest, brightest smile she'd ever received from anyone. "Molly … my Molly … may I call you my girlfriend?"

She grinned at him. "I wish you would."

His gaze fell to her lips. "May I kiss you?"

"I really wish you would."

Sherlock gently pulled her into his lap before his lips met hers in the softest, sweetest kiss Molly had ever known. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back just as softly. Sherlock pulled back after a moment and pressed his forehead to hers.

"I … I've never…" he murmured, unable to finish.

"Never what?" she asked softly.

"I've never been with someone, I've never kissed someone before," he murmured. "At least, not that I can remember."

Molly smiled softly. "Well, I'd say you're naturally talented."

Sherlock laughed softly. "Thank you. The last thing I'd want is to disappoint you."

"I don't think you ever could." She gently stroked his cheek. "I want to take this slow, Sherlock." Molly laughed weakly. "I had lunch today with Mary, she knew just by looking at me that I was interested in someone. She encouraged me to, well, jump your bones and I was seriously considering it but now I want to wait. We have all the time in the world, I want to make sure the time is right."

He nodded. "I think that's the right thing to do. I'll admit that I want to make love to you more than anything, but you're worth waiting for." He smiled softly. "I've waited this long for you, what's a little longer?"

She hugged him gently then murmured in his ear, "You're worth waiting for too."


	18. 08 Between Dusk and Dawn

A/N: For the September 5th prompt - "The time between dusk and dawn." Rated T. Sequel to Worth Waiting For.

* * *

Dating someone who was completely nocturnal was a big adjustment for Molly. She arranged her shift to work strictly days so she'd have as much of the night with Sherlock as she could. Whenever her friends from work asked her to go to the pub with them after their shifts, she would politely decline, saying she wanted to get home to her boyfriend.

Mary, however, was a lot more curious.

"So, how are things between you and Sherlock?" she asked one afternoon on Molly's day off. They were on a bench in the park, keeping an eye on Rosie who was playing in the nearby sandbox. Mary's question sounded innocent but she was grinning wickedly.

Molly blushed, smiling. "We're good. He's an absolute sweetheart, really. He always knows exactly what I need." _He always has._

"Sounds like the perfect lover."

"We're … um … we're not lovers yet. We decided to take things slow."

Mary raised an eyebrow. "How slow are we talking?"

"Glacial. We want to know each other better first."

"And you're satisfied with that?"

"Well … I wouldn't say that." Molly smiled a bit. "Sherlock is the sexiest man I've ever met and God knows he can turn me on with just a look, but there's still so much about him I don't know."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Tell the man to set up a Wikipedia page. You've been dating for three weeks."

Molly smirked. "When we're at the point where we're both ready, you'll be the first to know."

"As is only proper," Mary said, grinning. "Why don't you bring him to dinner at our house on Friday? Everyone's dying to meet him."

"Um … he's not the most social person."

"It'll just be me, John, Greg, and whoever Greg's with this week. Not exactly a crowd."

"I'll ask him."

* * *

Dusk found Molly in the kitchen, making dinner. She wasn't aware of the position of the sun until she felt her boyfriend's arms wrap around her waist and his lips on her neck.

Molly smiled to herself. "Hi, Sherlock."

"Good evening, Molly," he murmured, kissing her neck again.

"Mmm… Did you sleep well?"

"I dreamt of us cuddled on your couch all night, so yes, I'd say so."

Molly turned to face him, smiling. "I have no problems with making that come true." She paused. "Sherlock, do you ever dream of us in bed?"

His cheeks flushed. "Yes, more often lately now that we're together."

She kissed him softly. "Maybe we can make those dreams come true soon?"

Sherlock's eyes widened and his pupils dilated. "How soon?"

Molly smiled a bit. "I'm not exactly looking for a timetable. When the moment feels right."

He nodded, relaxing. "Yes, when the moment feels right."

They cuddled on the sofa watching _Glee_ while Molly ate her dinner. Sherlock no longer needed food and was content to just watch her. After two episodes, Molly had finished eating and turned the telly off. Sherlock looked at her curiously.

"There's something I've been wanting to ask you," she explained, "Netflix would only distract us. Why me, Sherlock?"

He smiled softly. "I was hoping we'd get to that." He gently pulled her into his lap, his arms around her securely. "Devotion to me has been matrilineal in your family." At her wide eyes, he grinned. "It's true. One of your ancient ancestors worshipped me as a god and taught her daughter to do the same. I tried to discourage the practice of course, I'm no god, but they wouldn't listen. Eventually, thinking of me as a god was replaced with thinking of me as a protector, then as a friend. That's how your mother and her mother knew me."

"Did you come to see them too?" Molly couldn't help the sudden flare of jealousy.

"No, I've only shown myself to the one who means the most to me – my Molly."

She hugged him tightly. "You mean the most to me too." She pulled back enough to gaze at him. "I love you, Sherlock. I'm certain of it now."

Sherlock's face lit up then he kissed her deeply. Molly kissed him back and part of her wanted to make love with him then and there but she knew the moment wasn't quite right.

 _Soon, though._

They spent hours talking about anything and everything and kissing. Sherlock told her about the other people living on the moon. Molly told him about Mary inviting both of them over for dinner.

"I would love to go, darling, but it would be a little hard to explain this." He held up a hand, the glow emanating from his skin wasn't very bright with all the other light sources in the room, but it was clearly visible.

"It's alright, I'll just tell them you have to work." She smiled a bit. "I told them you're an astronomer."

He chuckled. "Clever."

They talked until Molly needed to get to bed. Normally, that was when Sherlock would say goodnight, but this time he hesitated. "Is it alright if I stayed? I've watched you sleep every night, but always from a distance."

She smiled at him softly. "That would be perfect." After going through her bedtime routine, Molly got into bed.

Sherlock carefully got in beside her then gently pulled her into his arms. Molly kissed him softly as she held him close.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," she murmured. "I love you."

"I love you too," he murmured. "Goodnight, my Molly."

* * *

Molly woke just before dawn to a soft kiss on her cheek. She opened her eyes and smiled at him sleepily. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Sherlock said, smiling happily. "I've never had a chance to say that to you before. It's nice."

"It is," she agreed. "The sun will be up soon."

"Momentarily, but I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye." He gave her a soft kiss which she gladly returned. "Until tonight, darling."

"Until tonight," she murmured.

He vanished just as daylight started to filter through the window.


	19. 09 The Right Moment

A/N: For the May 7th prompt - "Some things you'll never forget." Rated M. Sequel to Between Dusk and Dawn.

* * *

It was another month before Molly felt she and Sherlock had reached the right moment. They were watching _The Ghost and Mrs. Muir_ from Molly's sofa, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her. When Capt. Gregg left Lucy for what he believed was her own good, Sherlock turned to Molly.

"I feel like I should apologize again," he murmured.

"Sherlock, it's alright, I already forgave you. You had your reasons, just like Capt. Gregg had his." She smiled a bit. "You were both idiots, but that's beside the point."

He chuckled. "I do have one advantage over a ghost."

Molly grinned. "And that is?"

"I'm flesh and bone, which means I can do this." He lowered his head to kiss her softly.

She kissed him back, sighing into his mouth, then murmured, "Yes, being able to touch is definitely an advantage. In fact…" Molly stood up and held out her hand to him. "I think we need to fully appreciate it."

Sherlock stared at her as he took her hand and stood. "Molly, are you saying you want to make love?"

"Yes, Sherlock." She kissed him softly. "It's time."

He grinned at her then they were suddenly in her bedroom. Molly laughed softly.

"Impatient, aren't we?" she asked.

"Very. Molly, if you only knew how many days I've dreamt of this moment, or how many lonely nights I've spent touching myself while I thought of you."

"Mmm... I'd like to touch you," she murmured.

He smiled a bit. "Me first – age before beauty, after all."

Molly watched as her clothes and his dissolved into smoke then dissipated. Sherlock was magnificent, there was no other word to describe him. He had a lean and muscular build and Molly's hands itched to trace every muscle. His fully-erect cock made her mouth water and she was eager to taste him.

She gazed up at him. "You're beautiful, like a marble statue."

"I was thinking the same thing about you, darling. The marble statue of a goddess of love." He knelt in front of her. "Let me worship you."

Molly nodded, one hand going into his curls and spread her legs a bit more. Sherlock bent his head to slowly lick her slit, his hands on her hips.

She groaned softly, both hands in his hair. "Sherlock…"

A hand moved between her legs, two fingers sliding into her opening as his tongue teased her clit. Molly moaned his name as the two fingers moved in and out slowly. After a moment, he curled them back to stroke her center and Molly cried out softly. Her knees buckled and she would have stumbled if he hadn't been there to hold her steady.

Sherlock pulled his fingers out then stood and licked them clean while she watched. Molly's cheeks flushed then she pulled him down to kiss him deeply.

"For someone who doesn't remember having sex, I'd say you're pretty good at it," she murmured.

He chuckled softly. "Thank you. It must be muscle memory – it stays in the brain even without long-term memories to support it." Sherlock held her close.

She hugged him gently. "You have pleased your goddess," she murmured, "it's time for her to show her appreciation."

Sherlock nodded then he sat on the edge of the bed and spread his legs. Molly knelt in front of him, one small hand wrapping around the base of his cock, then the other when the first couldn't make it all the way around. Sherlock shivered. A bead of pre-come had formed on the tip and she licked it off slowly, teasingly.

He whimpered. "God… It's not nice to tease your lover, Molly…"

She chuckled. "It's only a tease if I don't follow through." She took the tip into her mouth and Sherlock nearly jumped in surprise. Molly hummed around his tip then slowly took in more of him. She couldn't take him all in so she stroked his base with one hand, the other fondling his balls.

Sherlock's eyes rolled back as he moaned loudly, his hands gripping the sheets. "Molly… Oh God, Molly, you have to stop… I'm going to come soon and I don't want to come in your mouth…"

She let him slide out of her mouth then she started to kiss his shaft, murmuring, "Why? We have all night, after all."

"It's not that…" Sherlock tried to compose himself but it was hopeless. "I overheard you say to Mary once that you don't like it when a man comes in your mouth."

"Oh, Sherlock…" She smiled up at him. "It's different when it's someone you love." She took him in her mouth again.

One feel of her tongue along a vein and Sherlock was filling her mouth with his seed as he cried out her name. She swallowed it all then proceeded to lick him clean. When she was done, Sherlock laid back, exhausted.

Molly giggled as she sat down on the bed. "I take it that means I did well."

He chuckled weakly, gazing up at her. "You know you did."


	20. 10 Better Than Any Dream

A/N: For the August 15th prompt: "Aftershocks of the full moon." Rated M. Immediately follows The Right Moment.

* * *

Molly leaned to kiss him softly. Sherlock kissed her back, one hand raising up to tangle in her hair. After a moment, she pulled back, grinning down at him.

"I can't believe how happy I am at this moment. You've made me happier than I ever thought I could be, Sherlock."

He smiled at her softly then he sat up and took her hands. "I don't know if I've ever been in love before," he murmured, "but I'm sure I've never been in love this strongly. I watched you grow up then I watched you mature into the woman you are now, my heart swelling with love every step of the way."

"Oh, Sherlock…" She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him deeply.

Sherlock lowered her onto the bed as he returned the kiss, one arm around her securely, his other hand guiding his cock to her entrance. He broke the kiss to gaze deep into her eyes. "I love you, Molly."

"I love you, Sherlock," she murmured. "Make me yours."

"You've always been mine," he said softly as he slid into her, "just as I've always been yours." Sherlock groaned deeply once he was fully inside her, but he sobered quickly when he saw her wince. "Molly?"

"It's nothing," she murmured quickly. "You're just … bigger than I'm used to." _He definitely puts all of my ex-boyfriends to shame._ "I'll be alright, I just need a minute."

"Of course, anything," he murmured. He held her close, softly stroking her hair as she adjusted to him.

"It'll get better the more we do this," she murmured.

He nodded then softly kissed her neck. Molly sighed, one hand in his curls, and felt herself relax around him.

"I'm good now, love."

Sherlock started to thrust slow and deep, his hair tickling her cheek as he continued to kiss her neck, eventually moving to her shoulder. Molly met each thrust, reveling in the feeling of being one with the man she loved.

"You feel exquisite," he murmured against her skin. "Better than any dream I've had." He chuckled softly. "And I've had quite a few about us."

"Mmm… I've fantasized about this, about you. The pleasure I feel is incredible, but even more is the love I feel." _This is what I was missing with those other men._ She nibbled his earlobe and Sherlock grunted, his hips moving faster. "Oh God, yes…"

"Come for me, my Molly," he murmured, reaching down to stroke her clit as he watched her face.

Molly saw stars as she came, so hard was her climax, then she could feel echoes of her orgasm, like aftershocks, as Sherlock continued to thrust, both hands on her hips. He soon cried out her name as his seed filled her and Molly committed the look of pure pleasure on his face to memory, even though she knew she would be seeing it many times from now on.

After a moment, he pulled out of her and laid down beside her. The lights turned off seemingly by themselves and Molly chuckled softly as Sherlock pulled her into his arms.

He smiled a bit as he gazed at her lovingly. "What?"

She grinned. "I was too tired to realize it the last time you slept over, but you're like a human-shaped nightlight."

Sherlock groaned quietly. "We just made love and that's what's on your mind?"

"Well, that and how we're going to be doing this a lot."

He chuckled. "Much better. And you're right, of course." He softly kissed her hair then yawned. "Love, you've done the impossible – you've tired me out in the middle of the night."

Molly giggled. "Um, sorry?"

"Don't apologize, it'll be an honor to sleep beside you."

They fell asleep in each other's arms, dreaming about the future.


	21. 11 Total Eclipse of the Heart

A/N: For the July 30th prompt fill - "Write about an eclipse." Rated T. Takes place a few months after Better Than Any Dream. Inspired, of course, by the total solar eclipse earlier this week.

* * *

The hospital was abuzz with talk of the total solar eclipse later that day and Molly tried to tune them out. She would still be down in the windowless morgue when it happened, no chance of her seeing it.

Even so, she started thinking about the eclipse then those thoughts quickly turned to her boyfriend, making Molly smile to herself. _Sherlock is the best boyfriend I've ever had, even if he's only around for half of every day._ Dating the Man in the Moon meant her love life was anything but "normal," but Molly wouldn't want it any other way.

She knew the exact moment the eclipse started because that's when Sherlock unexpectedly appeared in front of her.

Molly was so startled, she dropped the file she'd been holding. Papers scattered all over the floor but all she could do was stare at her boyfriend, who was grinning like mad at her.

"It worked!" He smiled proudly. "I didn't know if it would since there hasn't been a solar eclipse since before we started dating, but it worked and I'm here!"

"Sherlock, what-"

"There's no time to explain, I only have a minute left." He got down on one knee in front of her and pulled a black velvet ring box out of his pocket and opened it. The ring was a round diamond surrounded by small rainbow moonstones on a silver band.

"Oh, Sherlock…" Molly whispered.

"My Molly, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" Sherlock's eyes held a mix of hope and nervousness.

Molly grinned at him. "Of course I will."

Beaming, Sherlock took the ring from the box and slid it on her left ring finger then he kissed her hand and smiled up at her softly. "I wanted to ask at a special moment."

"They're all special when we're together."

"I know but-" He suddenly vanished, the ring box falling to the floor, and that's how Molly knew the eclipse was over.

She smiled down at her ring. "I'll see you tonight, my love." She picked up the fallen papers and the ring box, singing along to a song that started playing in her head. "Forever's gonna start tonight."


	22. Snow Day

A/N: For the May 27th prompt - "It's snowing." Rated K.

* * *

"I don't think we should be outside, Sherlock," six-year-old Molly said as she followed her best friend through the unshoveled snow on the sidewalk. _It's a good thing his feet are bigger than mine_ , she thought as she stepped in his footprints. "Mummy said it's dangerous."

Over a foot of snow had fallen overnight. School had been cancelled and the two children had snuck out of their houses and were headed for the park, Sherlock dragging a sled behind him. Every snowdrift seemed to be taller than Molly and she was feeling uneasy.

Sherlock, also six, scoffed, something he picked up from his older brother. "It's just snow."

"It's a lot of snow," Molly corrected.

"Fine, it's a lot of snow." Sherlock stopped then set the sled down for a moment, rubbing his bare hands to warm them.

Molly rolled her eyes, a gesture she picked up from Sherlock, then pulled her spare pair of gloves out of her coat pocket. "Here."

"I don't need gloves," Sherlock insisted, but he took them anyway and put them on. They were black, his favorite color. "Um … thank you."

"You're welcome," Molly said, smiling at him happily. She loved doing nice things for people, but especially for Sherlock.

For a moment, Sherlock couldn't stop looking at her pretty brown eyes then he shook his head to clear it. "C'mon." He picked up the rope to the sled again and started walking, Molly following him again.

After a few steps, she started to slip on a patch of ice. Sherlock saw and stopped her just before she fell. She beamed at him once she was on solid ground again.

"Sherlock, you saved me! You're my hero!"

Sherlock blushed. "I'm not a hero."

She kissed his cheek and he blushed even harder.

 _I'm gonna marry him someday._

 _I'm gonna marry her someday._

* * *

"Did you not hear the news, Sherlock?" thirty-year-old Molly asked. "The city is shut down because of the blizzard. The mayor wants everyone to stay home."

Sherlock, also thirty, scoffed. "It's just two feet, Molly."

"Easy for you to say, you're not at risk of getting lost in a snowdrift, Mr. Six-Foot-One."

Sherlock chuckled. "C'mon, Molly. The game is on." He grabbed her hand and tugged her along.

Molly's foot hit a patch of ice and she slipped. He tried to keep her steady but they both ended up falling into a snowdrift.

She grinned up at Sherlock, who was lying on top of her. "Nice try."

Sherlock chuckled as he got up then helped her up. "There's always next time."

Molly kissed his cheek, a move that never failed to make him blush, even after all these years. "You're always there to catch me when I fall."

"It's only appropriate since you caught me when I fell for you." He took her left hand and kissed her knuckles, just above her engagement and wedding rings.

She grinned at him. "And I always will."


	23. Great Minds

A/N: For the January 15th prompt - "It's Saturday afternoon. You're not at home." Rated T. This is basically a headcanon of mine.

* * *

 _It's Saturday afternoon. I should be cleaning out Toby's litterbox then cuddling on the sofa with_ Pride & Prejudice _and Ben & Jerry's, but no, I'm trailing after the unrequited love of my life through an abandoned Tube tunnel. Thank God it's not a sewer. Oh God, is that a rat?_

Molly let out a squeak much like the rat's. Sherlock immediately clasped his hand over her mouth.

"Quiet," he whispered in her ear. "If they hear us, we're dead. The rat won't hurt you – there hasn't been a confirmed case of bubonic plague in decades."

 _How comforting,_ Molly thought. When Sherlock let go of her mouth, she grabbed his hand and just held it tighter when he tried to take it back. Shrugging, he held her hand as they followed the tunnel.

As she walked next to Sherlock, Molly noticed he had shortened his stride to match hers _. Why am I here? I'm literally slowing him down. Oh, right, John's busy with Rosie. Good to know my worth as a substitute John._

 **You're not substituting John or anyone else. I've told you that before.** Sherlock's voice was crystal clear but she knew he didn't speak.

She stared at him. _This can't be happening._

He looked back at her, raising an eyebrow. **Why not?**

 _You're reading my mind?!_

Sherlock smirked. **Yes, I'm a telepath, though not a strong one.**

 _So, the whole, "I can hear you thinking from here" bit is real?_

 **Yes, but most of the time, all I "hear" is a buzz, and that's only if someone's concentrating. I can't read a person's mind unless I touch them.**

Molly's face paled. _Oh God, so those times when you kissed my cheek...?_

 **It has to be sustained contact, like this.** He held up their joined hands.

 _Oh._ Her face flushed as an image of the two of them making love and him knowing every little thing about her came to mind.

He smirked again, the look in his eyes absolutely sinful. **As provocative as that image is, Molly, we do have a case to solve.**

 _SHERLOCK!_

He flashed her a brief, sexy grin but quickly grew serious again when they heard voices. Sherlock pulled a gun that looked suspiciously like John's out of his coat pocket with his free hand then looked at her. **Stay well back, I don't want you getting hurt.**

 _Then why am I he_ \- Her thought was cut off by the feeling his lips on hers.

The kiss was passionate but brief, Sherlock pulling back to grin at her before she could really respond. **When this is over, we'll talk about that idea you put in my head.** He let go of her hand, breaking their connection, then mouthed, "Stay here," before running down the tunnel towards the voices.

* * *

After the criminals were captured, Sherlock took Molly back to Baker Street. She was full of questions so they sat together on the sofa with two cups of tea. Molly made sure she wasn't touching Sherlock at all and she could see he was a little hurt by that.

"I don't want you to distract me," she said gently. "There's a lot I want to know." She smiled at him softly. "We can touch after, okay?"

Sherlock reluctantly agreed. "Fine," he muttered. "What do you want to know?"

"Are you a mutant?"

He chuckled, relaxing. "You've been watching too many movies. No mutations in my DNA, they checked."

"Who's 'they?'"

"The scientists who studied me. Understandably, my telepathy alarmed my parents so they insisted on making sure I was 'alright.' The scientists were fascinated, but my parents made sure they always remembered I was a little boy first and a telepath second." He knew what she was going to ask next and beat her to it. "I was four."

"You must have been scared to death," she said gently.

He shrugged a bit. "The laboratory scared me much more than the telepathy. Honestly, I thought everyone could until I asked my parents about it."

"It doesn't run in your family?"

"No." He smiled a bit. "Mycroft has said more than once that he should've been the telepath, but I keep reminding him that it would require him to touch people, something he absolutely abhors."

She smiled back. "I thought you abhorred it too."

"To be honest, I do, most of the time. I can't control my telepathy when I'm touching someone – it's always 'on.' I can barely stand to hear most people speak, I certainly don't want to hear them think." He took her hand. **You're different, Molly. I'm completely fascinated by you. I want to know everything about you. Maybe then I'll know how you can love someone like me.**

She smiled at him softly. _Let's go to the bedroom and I'll show you._

The smile he gave her made words, spoken or not, unnecessary.


	24. Typical Morning

A/N: For the February 12th prompt - "Write your morning." Rated T.

* * *

Molly Holmes woke to the smell of burning flesh. Since it wasn't accompanied by screams of agony, she knew it was just her husband experimenting.

Again.

Rolling her eyes, she got up and pulled on her blue dressing gown, which used to be his, then did her pre-coffee shuffle into the bathroom. One look in the bathtub told her he was conducting more than one experiment.

She poked her head out of the bathroom door. "Sherlock?" she called out. "I think you forgot someone."

He was at the doorway before she was even done speaking, looking sheepish. "Sorry, sweetheart." Before she could say another word, he grabbed the bucket with the severed head and took it out of the room.

After going through her morning routine, Molly walked into the kitchen to find Sherlock at the stove with their best frying pan. But instead of sausages, he was frying toes.

Molly closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them again, Sherlock was facing her, trying to block her view of the stove.

She sighed quietly as she moved closer to him. "I thought we agreed when we got married that you would keep the experiments confined to Bart's lab."

"We did, but-"

"Yes?" She couldn't help a smile – he looked like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"Bart's is too far away when you're here and I'm there."

With that, all of her irritation melted away and she grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down for a kiss.

They were only separated by sound of the smoke detector going off.


	25. Both Of His Hearts Are Hers

A/N: For the January 3rd prompt - "You're standing in a doorway." Rated T. This is my take on who!lock.

* * *

Molly Hooper glanced around the control room of the TARDIS. The room was full of gears, switches, blinking lights, and monitors showing everything and nothing, but no Detective.

"Where's he gotten to now?" she asked, exasperated.

The TARDIS hummed in a pleasant but unhelpful way.

"He'd better not have gone on a case without me."

In the thirteen months that she'd been his companion, Molly found herself all too frequently waiting inside the TARDIS while The Detective was on a case he'd said was too dangerous for her. They'd have the same argument when he returned – she'd say she wasn't a child, he'd say it wasn't about that, though he never elaborated.

 _He doesn't have to,_ she thought as she started down one hallway. _He thinks I can't handle danger_ _because I'm a woman. I'm his first female companion, he doesn't know what women are capable of._ _Never mind the fact that I've lived on this ship for over a year. You'd think he'd know me by now._

Molly had only been in The Detective's private rooms once before, when he needed a book he kept there. These were what she was trying to find, but the TARDIS liked to move rooms around. _One of these days, I'm going to stumble out of my bedroom pre-coffee and right into the pool._

She finally found the black-painted door with the brass 221B nailed to it after going down the third hallway. When she'd asked about the numbers and letter once, he'd gone into his Mind Palace and didn't speak for three days. By the time he'd come out, she'd forgotten the question.

Molly knocked on the door and waited for a response. Receiving none, she tried the knob. Finding it unlocked, she opened the door and poked her head in.

The Detective's private rooms resembled a shabby London flat. There was a sitting room with mismatched furniture, a kitchen that was more like a laboratory, a bathroom which Molly hoped was in better shape than the other two rooms, and his bedroom. She couldn't help blushing at the thought of finding him in his bedroom, a place she hadn't seen yet.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, she found the man she loved asleep on the sofa. He was still in his light grey pajama pants, white t-shirt, and dark gray silk dressing gown, his feet bare.

Molly raised an eyebrow. _Did he wake up only to take a nap?_ "Detective?"

His eyes shot open. Molly knew if she were any closer, she'd be mesmerized by their blue-green-gold depths, so she stayed in the doorway.

"I wasn't sleeping, I was just resting my eyes," he said defensively as he sat up.

"If you say so, Detective." She smirked. "Any new cases?"

"Do you think I'd be napping … er, resting my eyes if I had a case?" he muttered.

The Detective stood and stretched, mesmerizing Molly anyway with the play of muscles under his shirt. His mobile chirped and he quickly picked it up from where it lay on the coffee table. He read the text, grinning. The mobile was programmed so that anyone in any place or time who wanted to contact him could. No matter their level of technology, their messages always came to him as texts.

"I'm off to 21st Century London," he said, his eyes still on his phone. "Four serial suicides and now a note! It's Christmas!"

"You mean we're off, don't you?" Molly asked quietly. She moved to him then reached out to take his hand and he finally looked up from his mobile, his eyes widening slightly. "Please, Detective, take me with you."

"It's too dangerous," he said firmly. "I refuse."

"I didn't run off with you to stay on the TARDIS while you go save Creation time after time. Do you think I'm not smart enough?"

He blinked in surprise. "You're a genius. Frankly, you're the smartest companion I've ever had."

"Do you think I'm blind?"

"You're also the most observant companion I've ever had."

"Then it's because I'm a woman. You make me stay behind every time there's even a hint of danger because I was born XX instead of XY. Why am I even here?"

The Detective groaned in frustration. "Keeping you behind has nothing to do with you being a woman and everything to do with you being you."

She stared at him. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you, Molly Hooper, are the one person in all of Creation that I have fallen in love with and I will not risk your life for anything."

Her eyes widened. "You … you love me?"

The Detective ran a frustrated hand through his curls. "I know I've done a poor job of showing it but it's true. I've lost companions before – death, old age, marriage, etc. – but I would rather have you leave me out of frustration because I don't take you with me than see you killed by some criminal who got lucky." He hesitated a moment then took her face in his hands, gazing deep into her eyes. "Please, Molly, understand that losing you would break both of my hearts."

She swallowed hard. "You won't lose me, Detective," she murmured. "I love you too and I'm not going anywhere."

He stared at her like he couldn't quite believe her words then his face lit up and he kissed her deeply. Molly kissed him back then murmured in his ear, "Except to 21st Century London." She nibbled his earlobe and he groaned.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart – just keep doing that," he murmured.

She grinned as she took his hand and led him to the bedroom. "My dear Detective, you're going to see just how persuasive I can be."


	26. In the Middle of the Night

A/N: For the January 8th prompt - "It's what I do in the middle of the night." Rated T. Fits in somewhere after The Lying Detective and before The Final Problem.

* * *

The bad guys were caught, Lestrade was on his way to NSY, and John was on his way home to kiss his sleeping daughter's curls and write up the case for his blog. After chasing criminals for an entire week, Sherlock was starving and exhausted. Baker Street was closer, but there was only one place he wanted to be right now. The fact that it was the middle of the night made no difference.

Letting himself in with the key she had given him, he saw that the entire flat was dark. Sherlock had memorized the layout of Molly's home during his very first visit, so he didn't need to turn on the lights. Hanging up his Belstaff and taking off his shoes, he then walked into the kitchen and went straight to the refrigerator. Leftover Chinese take-away was more than enough to satisfy him.

When he was done, he tossed the empty containers into the bin then walked to Molly's bedroom. He stopped at the door and listened. Sherlock had once walked in on Molly and Tom asleep in her bed and he'd vowed to himself that he would never barge in like that again. Satisfied that he only heard Molly breathing, he slipped into the room, silently closing the door behind him.

The moonlight shining through the window was enough to show Molly asleep on the bed, the flower-print sheet only covering up to her waist, and above that he could see she was wearing her pale blue silk negligee. _Bad day at work,_ he deduced. _She only wears that to bed when her day has been utter shite and she wants to improve her mood._ Sherlock quickly and quietly changed into the spare pajamas she kept for him then slipped into bed beside her.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, blinking sleepily. "Sherlock?"

"Go back to sleep, Molly," he murmured.

"Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine. The case is solved, the criminals are in custody, and John's certain to make us the toast of the internet once again."

"Mmm, to your utter delight, I'm sure," she murmured as she turned on her side to face him. "And the word you're looking for is 'viral.'"

Sherlock chuckled. "Right." He reached out to tuck a stray lock behind her ear and felt her shiver. "Tell me about your day."

Molly sighed quietly. "Murdered woman. My age. Killed by her ex-fiancé after she wouldn't give him any money." She shuddered. "I noticed cat hairs on her clothes and asked Greg to have someone get her cat."

"You identify with her," he murmured, one hand reaching out to gently stroke her hair.

She nodded. "I kept thinking that could easily have been me, if Tom were evil and greedy instead of-"

"A complete moron?" Sherlock asked, smiling a bit.

Molly laughed softly. "Something like that." She smiled at him. "Thank you, Sherlock. I needed that."

"You're welcome."

"So, um, why are you here? I mean, not that you're not welcome, you're always welcome, but if the case is solved, wouldn't you rather be home?"

He gently stroked her cheek. "Who says I'm not?"

She stared at him. "Sherlock…"

"Hear me out, Molly," he murmured. "I've realized that this is my favorite bolthole not just because it's quiet and out-of-the-way, but because you're here. The few times I've been here without you, it just wasn't the same. There was no order in the midst of chaos without you."

"You're saying I'm good for your peace of mind?" she asked, confused.

"You calm my mind, my body, and my heart. My soul too, if I believed in such things."

"Sherlock…" Molly looked torn. "Don't say something you don't mean."

"What makes you think I don't?" He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "I don't just come here to get a respite from the world, Molly. When I get an urge to see you, touch you, hear your voice, and breathe in your scent, I come here."

She stared at him. "But you never touch me." She looked down at his arms around her then back up at his face. "Until now, that is."

"What do you mean?" he asked softly. "I touch your hand, I kiss your cheek. Those count." He suddenly looked guilty. "The last few times I was here, I … may … have touched your hair while you slept."

Molly smiled a bit. "I may have touched your curls while you were in the hospital."

It was his turn to stare. "You came to see me?"

"Yes, of course. It was before you woke up. I couldn't stay long, but I did visit. John was there, I thought he would have told you."

"He didn't," Sherlock said, more than a little irritated with his best friend.

"Enough about that," she murmured, one hand coming up to play with his curls. "You were saying something about me calming your heart?"

He closed his eyes, sighing contently. "I was?"

"Sherlock…"

He opened his eyes to smile at her softly. "You must know by now that I depend on you, Molly Hooper. And I don't just mean at Bart's. Your constant attention and affection remind me that no matter happens, there is someone in the world who loves me." Her eyes widened and he continued. "Yes, I know you love me. I've known it since that Christmas, but I wasn't prepared to act on that information until now." He took a deep breath. "I love you, Molly. I know my home will always be wherever you are. That is, if you'll have me."

She stared at him for half a heartbeat then whispered, "Of course I'll have you, you silly man."

Sherlock grinned at her. "I'll take you to the nearest church first thing in the morning."

Molly laughed softly. "If this is a dream, I really don't want to wake up."

"You're definitely not dreaming." He then proceeded to show her just how awake he was.


	27. Exchange

A/N: For the April 2nd prompt - "I would like to make an exchange." Rated T.

* * *

"I would like to make an exchange," the man in line ahead of her said. His voice was sinfully deep and Molly Hooper couldn't help blushing.

 _Thank God he can't see me_ , she thought. She took in his height, his black curls, and the expensive coat he wore. _Very nice._

"You want to exchange the nightgown for the negligee?" the saleswoman asked.

"Yes, my … girlfriend thought the nightgown wasn't sexy enough." The man sounded utterly bored with the transaction, and possibly the girlfriend.

"No problem." The saleswoman completed the exchange and the man started walking away. "Next."

Molly approached the counter and noticed the nightgown he had returned. It was a simple knee-length sleeveless cotton nightgown, the kind Molly loved. She smiled at the saleswoman. "Maybe he should exchange his girlfriend instead."

Her return completed, Molly walked out of the store. As soon as she hit the sidewalk, she noticed the man from before. Now that she could see his face, she could feel her jaw drop. He was easily the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen, made even more so when he smiled at her.

"Maybe I should," he said, holding out his right hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

It took a moment for her brain to start working again then she shook his hand. "Molly Hooper. Sorry, maybe you should what?"

"Exchange my girlfriend. I just broke up with Janine via text. She didn't seem too distressed about it, but that's no surprise considering she's already got her eye on a stock broker." His smile widened to a grin. "So, coffee?"


	28. Marshmallows

A/N: For the March 5th prompt - "What are you waiting for?" Rated K. You can look up the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment on Wikipedia, it's fascinating. (I'm a one-marshmallow person, btw.)

* * *

"You, Sherlock, are a one-marshmallow person," John declared after looking up at Sherlock from his laptop. Both men were seated in their chairs, Sherlock glued to his mobile.

He finally looked up after a moment, confused. "What? I don't even like marshmallows."

Mary grinned at her husband from where she sat on the floor between the chairs, playing with Rosie. "I told you he wasn't human." She turned to Sherlock. "You're a changeling, right?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Mycroft tried to convince me I was adopted when we were kids. It would have worked – I would've loved to not be biologically related to him – except that I have my father's face and my mother's eyes." He looked back at John. "What were you saying about marshmallows?"

"The Stanford Marshmallow Experiment. They offered a group of children one marshmallow right away or two marshmallows if they waited patiently for fifteen minutes. It's about instant versus delayed gratification. You're all about instant gratification – designer suits, 8,000-threadcount sheets, your worst enemy is boredom, I could go on."

"Please, don't," Sherlock muttered.

"Meanwhile, Molly is a two-marshmallow person – she's all about delayed gratification."

"And how exactly do you know that?" Sherlock asked, one eyebrow raised.

John smirked. "She's still waiting for you to get your head out of your-"

"Little ears, John," Mary said, smiling a bit.

"Right, sorry," John said, smiling apologetically. "Out of your bum."

"I told her that she's the one person that matters the most, isn't that enough?"

"That was a year ago so no, it's not," John pointed out. "You love her. I suggest you tell her before she gives up being a two-marshmallow person and finds someone else."

* * *

Molly opened her front door to see Sherlock standing there with a bouquet of yellow roses and a bag of marshmallows.

"Sherlock? What's going on?"

"You have a fireplace and we have something to discuss, Molly," Sherlock said, grinning. "Got any skewers?"


	29. Christmas Redone

A/N: For the February 17th prompt - "Open the box." Rated T. ASiB AU

* * *

After positively identifying Irene Adler's body, Sherlock stepped into the hall, trying to collect himself. It had been an emotional night, especially for someone so unused to emotions. After a few minutes, he heard the door open.

"Come to cheer me up, Mycroft?" Sherlock muttered.

"No," Molly said gently, "I just thought you shouldn't be alone right now."

He whirled around before she had finished speaking. Molly was biting her lower lip nervously but she held his gaze. Her lab coat had been replaced with her winter coat, gloves, and scarf, her bag slung over one shoulder.

 _She's probably worried I'll deduce her. Never again._ He cleared his throat. "I … er … I should go, there's nothing more I can do here."

"I'll go with you."

"Molly…"

She said hesitantly, "You just lost someone you … care about. You and I, we're … friends." Then she added firmly, "Supporting each other is what friends do."

He blinked in surprised then finally nodded. Neither of them said anything during the cab ride to Baker Street but Sherlock noticed how exhausted she looked.

 _I should just send her home but I know she won't go._

Back in his sitting room, which he noticed was clear of party debris, Sherlock sat down in his chair while Molly settled into John's. Normally, he would have gone into his Mind Palace, but something about Molly's exhausted form in front of him stopped him.

"You don't need to stay, Molly," he murmured.

"Your brother said it's a Danger Night."

 _So that's what this is about._ "I assure you, Molly, I'm not going to go on a bender over Ms. Adler's death. We weren't close."

She didn't say anything for a moment, looking down at her hands, then she said quietly, "No, you're not that close to anyone except John."

 _God, what do I say to this woman?_ He thought back to the party. _Did she really mean the "dearest" and the "love" and the three kisses?_ "Molly, your present-"

She sighed quietly. "It's under the tree. Mrs. Hudson insisted on putting it there, I was … I was going to take it back. She said you're bound to come to your senses sooner or later."

Something made Sherlock get up then retrieve the present from under the tree. He looked at the tag again then knelt beside John's chair, Molly staring at him as he then unwrapped it. The present turned out to be a royal blue cashmere scarf, just right for wearing under his Belstaff.

"Molly, I … I don't know what to say," he murmured, unable to meet her eyes. _She put so much thought into all of it – the scarf, the wrapping, her outfit, then I threw all of her efforts away._

"You don't have to keep it," she said quietly. "I can take it back, I saved the receipt."

His head jerked up and he stared at her. "Take it back? Why on Earth would you do that?"

"You don't like it."

"You're right." When she looked away, he added, "I love it."

She stared at him. "Sherlock…"

"Let's start tonight over." He stood then held out his hands.

Molly took them and stood up, still staring at him.

Sherlock grinned. "I see you have a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about … wait, it's me, isn't it?"

She couldn't help grinning back, relaxing. "Yes, you git."

He took the scarf and tied it around his neck. "How does it look?"

"Hmm. Let me see where the light is better." She grabbed his hand and led him to where mistletoe hung from the ceiling. "Perfect," she murmured, then pulled him down for a kiss.

Just before Sherlock's mind shut down from the sheer pleasure of it, he thought, _This is a much better ending._


	30. RSVP

A/N: For the December 1st prompt - "Write about an invitation refused." Rated T.

* * *

Sherlock knew the response to his carefully-worded decline would come, he just wasn't sure when. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long – Molly stormed into the sitting room at Baker Street the same day.

"Sherlock Holmes, what in the bloody hell is this about?" she demanded, holding up his RSVP card. "Did you think it was funny?"

He smiled at her, not bothering to get up from his chair. "Hello, Molly. Actually, I was being completely serious."

Molly's continued glare told him she didn't believe him one little bit. She read aloud what he put on the card. "'I'm terribly sorry but I'm afraid I will not be attending. If I were, it would only be to marry the bride myself.'" She tore the card up. "You're lucky Tom didn't see this. I'll just tell him you're not coming, I doubt he'll be surprised. Couldn't you have just said no?"

He stood up and walked over to her, smirking. "If I had done that, you wouldn't have come all the way over here."

"You only wrote that so I would come over?" she asked, anger giving way to confusion. "I'm over here all the time."

"Yes, with your completely idiotic fiancé in tow," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "I needed to speak with you alone."

"Why, Sherlock?" she asked quietly, her eyes wet. "Why can't you just be happy for me? John and Mary are."

"John and Mary aren't in love with you," he said softly.

"What?!" she asked, staring at him, then she turned away, muttering, "No, no, no, this is not happening. You do not spend six years ignoring someone's romantic interest in you only to declare your love when that person is already engaged to someone else."

"Molly…" He reached out to grab her hand.

She whirled back around to face him. "Do not toy with me!" she bellowed, her fury back full force. "I refused to be manipulated by you again, Sherlock Holmes! What is this, some ploy to keep me single so I'll always have time for you?"

"It's a ploy to keep you single, yes, but only so you'll be available to marry me."

Molly looked like she didn't know what to feel. "I wouldn't marry you for all the tea in-"

She was cut off by Sherlock pulling her into his arms and kissing her soundly. Once she got over her shock, she kissed him back eagerly.

He pulled back when they both needed air, grinning. "You were saying?"

"Shut up and kiss me," she murmured.

Sherlock was more than happy to obey. While she was distracted by his kiss, he took the chance to slip Tom's ring off her finger and replace it with his.

* * *

Years later, Molly found the torn pieces of his RSVP card in an old cigar box in their closet. When she asked him about it, he said it was proof of the most romantic thing he'd ever done.

Molly said that their four children were proof he was that romantic more than once.


	31. 01 Looking

A/N: For the January 7th prompt - "Once, when no one was looking..." Rated M. There will be another, possibly even a miniseries.

* * *

If there was one thing Sherlock Holmes hated, it was the fact that not everyone kept his hours. Which is to say that not everyone was available any day at any hour should a case come up, and that utterly galled him.

 _It's barely past midnight and what does Watson say? "I would much rather stay warm and dry with my wife than be out in the cold and damp with you, Holmes." Married life has changed him. I certainly hope that if I were to marry, it wouldn't change me one iota. Not that I will ever marry, of course._

Upon reaching St. Bartholomew's, Holmes paid the hansom driver then went down to the morgue. The body of Lord Barrett was laid out, already prepped for the autopsy, but there was no one around.

 _Curious._ "Hooper?" There was no sign of the pathologist. Sherlock went to her office at the back of the morgue. He could see light coming from underneath the door and was about to knock when he heard her voice.

"Oh, God…" She let out a groan. "Come on…" The sound of a hand slapping the wall. "Come on!" Another groan, this one louder and deeper, but still hers.

Sherlock could feel his member beginning to stir in his trousers. _She sounds like she's with someone, dangerous for a woman trying to hide her gender from the world. I must put a stop to this, for her own sake._ He could just hear Watson's voice say, _And the fact that you want to get rid of the blighter and take his place has nothing to do with it?_ Sherlock ignored the voice and tried the knob. The door was unlocked so he barged in.

His vision was immediately filled with the sight of Dr. Molly Hooper, known to the rest of the world as Dr. Mortimer Hooper, wearing her trousers and shoes and nothing else. Her jacket, waistcoat, and shirt were draped over her chair and the strips of fabric she used to bind her breasts were in a pile on the desk, leaving her breasts completely bare to him.

 _Perfect, just as I knew they would be. The fact that she's still wearing her moustache and wig spoils the effect a bit, but that is easily remedied._

He heard her gasp and just as she was going to shout his name, he clamped a hand over her mouth. "My dear Dr. Hooper, if you call attention to us now, we'll both be ruined," he murmured in her ear. "Allow me to do what you failed to before." He waited for her nod then he let go of her mouth and went back to the door, locking it.

Molly scrambled to put her shirt back on, her cheeks flaming, but she only got as far as slipping her arms into it before Sherlock came back to her, his gaze intent.

"These must go," he murmured as he carefully removed her wig and mustache.

She stared at him wide-eyed, unable to hide her anxiety. "What … what are you going to do?" The two halves of the shirt gaped open, showing more and more of her skin.

Sherlock slipped it off her, leaving her top half bare to his gaze once more. Molly tried to cover her breasts with her hands but Sherlock gently grabbed her wrists and held her hands away from her chest.

She shut her eyes, her cheeks flaming again as he gazed at her, then after a moment, she looked up at him warily. "You didn't answer my question."

"I assume you are in this state because your bindings became uncomfortable. I can help you redo them, but first I want to look at you, Molly Hooper, in all of your feminine glory."

She stared at him. "You only want to look?"

"Yes." Just as she started to relax a bit, he added, "For now. Lestrade will be here soon or I'd take you right here on the desk. As it is, such activity must wait until we can be assured of privacy."

Molly's eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I would do anything with you?" she demanded.

Sherlock leaned to murmur in her ear, "Because you are as attracted to me as I am to you."

Molly shivered but still would not yield. "I am not a loose woman, Holmes. If you insist on bedding me tonight, then I insist on marrying you in the morning."

He stared at her. _I hadn't considered that but now that she's said it, the idea has merit. Having Molly as my wife, coming home to her every day, having her in my bed every night…_ He could feel his heart and his member swell. "Very well," he murmured. Sherlock lowered his eyes to her breasts. "Your breasts are perfect, my dear."

"They're too small," she muttered. "Even without the disguise, I practically look like a man."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Molly, whoever told you that is wrong. Dead wrong. Your figure is very womanly." He let go of her hands. "If I may…"

She hesitated for a moment then nodded. He removed his gloves then cupped her small breasts in his large hands. Molly closed her eyes, sighing softly, then moaning as his thumbs stroked her hardened nipples.

"Your breasts are soft, pert, and just the right size for my hands," he murmured. "You are a beautiful woman, Molly, and any man who doesn't think so is an utter fool." She looked overwhelmed, perhaps on the verge of tears, so he added, "Let's make you presentable before Lestrade gets here."

Molly nodded and he helped her bind her breasts again. Once she was Dr. Mortimer Hooper once more, Sherlock followed "him" out of the office just as Lestrade arrived.

"Ah, Lestrade, there you are," Sherlock said, smiling a bit. "Let's wrap this up quickly, I have an urgent appointment after this."

Lestrade missed Molly's knowing smirk.


	32. 02 To Know But Not Well

A/N: For the May 18th prompt - "Write about a place you know, but not well." Sequel to Looking. Let's call this fic a hard T.

* * *

Sherlock had the case solved before Molly was finished with the autopsy. "Poison," he declared after looking at the man's fingernails. "Arsenic, small doses over a long term. Obviously the wife, slipping it into his port every night. Her motive being, of course, money."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Money isn't the only reason why a woman would want to kill a man," she muttered.

He heard her, of course. "True," he acknowledged, smirking at her, "but I think it is safe to assume that if Lady Barrett was annoyed with her husband to the point of killing him, she wouldn't have used such a slow method."

"Well, whatever the reason," Lestrade said, "I'm just glad this is wrapped up quickly – I can hear my bed calling me."

"As can I, Inspector," Sherlock said, giving Molly a knowing look.

Molly just rolled her eyes. As soon as everything was settled and Lord Barrett's body was on the way to the undertaker, Lestrade left and Molly found herself once again alone with Holmes.

 _I suppose I should consider him my fiancé now. What on Earth do I say to him?_

"So," he murmured, "shall we?"

"I'll go home and change first. I'll meet you at Baker Street."

"Very well." He leaned to murmur in her ear, "If you lose your nerve, Molly, I will be very, very disappointed."

She raised an eyebrow. "You or your cock?" she murmured back.

Spots of color appeared on his cheeks and he murmured, "Both of us." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek then he left the morgue.

* * *

Molly spent the entire time she was changing thinking about Sherlock. _Why am I so attracted to him? He's pushy, arrogant, childish, reckless, insatiable … brilliant, curious, passionate, dedicated, and incredibly handsome._ She groaned quietly. _Perhaps I can send him a telegram stating that I can't make it._

She looked at herself in the mirror. The simple blue dress accentuated her curves and complimented her coloring. With her hair up prettily instead of braided and pinned to her head the way she wore it under her wig, Molly thought she looked quite nice. _Not that my hair will be up long. I'm sure he'll have me undressed the moment I walk into the flat._

She had only been to his Baker Street flat once before, when Sherlock had invited her and Lestrade over for drinks. At the time, she thought he was lonely with John and Mary away on holiday in Scotland. But now, things looked very different. _What if he actually only wanted to see me but invited Lestrade as our chaperone?_ She thought about that visit as she put on her coat and hat and left her building.

A short walk later, she was at the front door of Sherlock's building. Just as she was going to knock, the door was opened by the consulting detective, who was giving her a look so intense she had to look away. He brought his fingers to her chin, raising her head until her eyes met his. Sherlock smiled at her, his eyes hungrier than she ever remembered them being, then he ushered her inside.

Taking her hand, he led her upstairs to his sitting room. Molly took off her coat and hat and hung them up behind the door. Sherlock took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her waist from behind. Molly jumped slightly then relaxed as he lowered his head to kiss her neck.

"You look beautiful," he murmured.

"You're just grateful that I came," she murmured. "I could have come here in a potato sack and you would have said the same thing."

Sherlock gently turned her to face him. "You think lust has blinded me? I can see the effort you've made, Molly, and I appreciate it."

Suddenly overcome with an emotion she couldn't name, Molly nodded, not trusting her voice, and took in his attire. He wore his royal blue dressing gown over a white dress shirt and black trousers. His hair was, as always, severely slicked back and Molly desperately wanted to muss it.

"Why do you always do your hair like that?" she asked softly.

"It's more distinguished this way." He held her flush against him, his arousal pressing into her stomach. "Molly," he murmured, his voice low, "unless you have a genuine need for tea and small talk, I would very much like to move this conversation to the bedroom."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "I'm giving you my virginity, Sherlock. Don't you think I should at least get some tea and biscuits first?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Mrs. Hudson is asleep."

She chuckled. "You poor, helpless male." She walked into the kitchen, a room she hadn't been in yet. Sherlock followed her, most likely out of curiosity.

Molly put the kettle on then found some chipped but clean teacups. She turned to him. "I suppose biscuits are too much to hope for?"

Sherlock thought a moment. "Wait here." He left the room.

 _As if I would do anything else,_ Molly thought. _Of course, if I had any sense at all, I never would've come._

Sherlock reappeared just as the kettle started to boil, a plate of biscuits in one hand.

"I suppose this means I will have to replace Mrs. Hudson's biscuits later," she said as she accepted the plate then steeped the tea.

"Unnecessary, my dear – simply moving in will be enough for her. She longs to have another woman around now that John and Mary are across town."

"So, you are serious about marrying me?"

"Yes, of course, why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock asked, confused. "Tonight is only more evidence of something I have known since that night in the abandoned church – you and I are immensely compatible."

"I want more than just compatibility, Sherlock. I want to be on fire for someone, and have him be on fire for me."

"And you think I'm not?"

"In your loins, perhaps, but not your heart."


	33. 01 A New Life

A/N: For the November 7th prompt - "Secretly, I know my name is..." Rated T. Inspired by Benedict's short film "Inseparable." I've made Sherrinford a Holmes sibling, just as he was in Baring-Gould's "Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street," only I've made him Sherlock's twin. This is the start of a new little miniseries but don't worry, there will be a sequel to "Looking" and "To Know But Not Well," it just isn't coming tonight.

* * *

 _My name is Sherrinford Holmes, call me Ford. I'm on my way home to my pregnant wife, Molly._

 _My name is Sherrinford Holmes, call me Ford. I'm on my way home to my pregnant wife, Molly._

 _My name is … fuck it, my name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm on my way to my soon-to-be late twin brother's house to get my face slapped by my pregnant sister-in-law, Molly._

 _This charade is never going to work._

Stopping at a red light, Sherlock glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. For the first time since uni, his hair wasn't a bunch of greasy, under-washed curls. Now they were clean, properly conditioned, and in stylish disarray. Also gone was the near-permanent stubble, his face now clean-shaven for probably the first time in a decade.

The suit was another big difference. _I haven't worn one of these since the last time I was in court, whenever that was. I don't know how Ford could stand it all these years, dressing like this. I feel ridiculous._

 _There is no way Molly won't see right past all of this. Ford knew, of course – he told me I'd never be able to fool her. Stupid me, thinking I could make it work._

After what seemed like both an eternity and far too soon, Sherlock pulled up in front of his brother and Molly's house. _Our house now, I suppose._ He grabbed the briefcase then got out of the car carefully, still sore from the beating he'd suffered at the hands of the men he'd owed money to.

Molly appeared in the doorway. Ford had said she always met him at the door when he came home from work, unless she had to work late. Sherlock took a deep breath then started walking up the path to the house.

He was about halfway up when he saw her expression change. What had been delight in seeing her husband turned to confusion then quiet, icy anger as he came closer. Sherlock silently thanked the God he no longer believed in that she wasn't going to cause a scene in front of the neighbors.

Ford had known that, too.

She stood aside as he came into the house and closed the door behind him. One hand went to her still-flat stomach as she regarded him silently for a moment.

"Lock," she said quietly, calling him the nickname his twin had given him when they were kids, "where is he?"

 _Some alley, a doss house, the bottom of the Channel, maybe even your morgue by now._ "I … I don't know. Molly, you need to sit down."

"I'm not doing anything until you tell me where he is!" She was practically shaking with fury.

 _As explosions go, that was pretty impressive._ Sherlock was grateful the windows were shut. "He's dying, Molly," he said as gently as he could which, going by her expression, wasn't nearly gentle enough. "Brain tumor, the doctor told him he only had a week. He didn't want to leave you and the baby alone. My life was worthless. He decided we should switch places. You'll still have a husband, the baby will still have a father, I get a second chance, and the world will think it's only lost a junkie who never got his life together."

Molly stared at him. She was silent for so long that Sherlock feared she had gone into shock. Finally, she swallowed hard then held out her hand. "The keys."

"What?"

"I'm taking the car and I'm going to find my husband then I'm going to take him to the hospital. That's where he needs to be, not on the streets or wherever the hell it was that you were." Her voice was calm, much too calm for Sherlock's liking. "Give me the keys."

"No," he said firmly. "Ford knew you wouldn't like this-"

"You're bloody fucking right I don't like this!"

"But he also knew this is really the best for everyone." He sighed quietly. "I didn't want to show this to you yet, but I don't think you're going to believe me until I do." Sherlock pulled his brother's phone out of his pocket then brought up the video he had made and gave the phone to Molly.

Ford's face appeared, smiling at the camera sadly. "Hi, angel. By now, Lock's told you everything. I need you to believe him, Molly – this really is the best plan for all of us. I love you and the baby," he swallowed hard, "and I know I'll be watching over you. For this plan to work, you have to treat Sherlock like he's me. Depend on him just like you depended on me. He'll support you and the baby or I've threatened come back and haunt his ass." Ford grinned and Molly laughed weakly. "I love you, Molly, and I know you'll always love me, but now I need you to love him too."

The video ended and she looked up at him. Sherlock waited with bated breath for her response. He didn't have to wait long.

"Never."


	34. 02 One Step Too Far

A/N: For the September 10th prompt - "Write about a time someone went too far." Rated T. Immediately follows A New Life.

* * *

 _I can't believe Ford thought I'd love and accept Sherlock just like that. Did he not know me at all? Oh God, I'm already thinking of him like he's gone…_ Molly swallowed hard then looked her brother-in-law square in the eye. "Tell me, Sherlock, while the two of you were planning all of this, did you even think about what will happen to his body?"

Sherlock sighed quietly. "Ford did think of that. In his, originally my, wallet is an emergency contact card, on it is the number of the mobile he gave me. If he's found with his wallet, I'll get a call."

"And if he's not, he'll be just another John Doe," she said quietly. _God, I hope he doesn't end up in my morgue. I don't think I could handle unzipping a body bag and finding my husband's body in it._ "He deserves better than that. I deserve better than that. After five years together, I deserve to have a body to bury."

"You do," he agreed. "I'll do everything I can to make sure we find him."

Feeling like she was about to cry, Molly just nodded.

He watched her for a moment. "How did you know it was me?"

"What?" she asked, confused.

"When I was walking up to the house."

"Oh. Ford's clothes fit him perfectly when he left this morning. They're looser on you."

"Consequence of being a junkie – I'd rather get a fix than a meal." She was about to protest when he added, "Don't worry, I'm clean and I intend to stay that way."

"How? If you go to rehab, it'll hurt Ford's … your reputation."

"Cold turkey and pure stubbornness." He smiled a bit. "Ford thought that would be enough, he knew how stubborn I can get."

"And when it's not?"

"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"Sherlock…" She sighed heavily. "I also knew it was you because it was highly unlikely that Ford would've received a black eye at the bank."

His hand instinctively went to his eye and he winced. "Er, yeah, a couple of guys I owed money to decided to take their pound of flesh."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "Is that a Shakespeare reference? From a junkie?"

"Hey," Sherlock protested, smiling a bit. "I did go to uni. I even got my degree. My life didn't go to shite until after I started working at the bank. Some traders were doing lines to stay awake 24/7, I fell in with them but realized the high from cocaine was better than the high from making money. The rest is really boring history."

She was about to smile back but then she was struck by how he looked exactly like Ford and it all came crashing down again. "Sherlock, what you and Ford planned, it's … it's wrong and frankly, I hate you both for doing this to me … but I also know neither of you had a choice. I'll do it, I'll pretend you're him in public, but I'll be damned if I treat you like him in private. You're not Ford, you're not the man I love, and you never will be."

Sherlock regarded her for a moment then nodded. "I can't expect anything more from you, Molly. Emotionally, anyway. But you have to let me do everything for you that he did, the things that husbands normally do."

"Such as?" she asked warily.

"Taking you to your OB appointments, fixing things around the house, that kind of thing."

Molly swallowed hard. "You can do the rest, but you're not coming to the surgery with me. If Ford can't come, then no one will."

"Molly…" He took her hand but she snatched it back. "If the world believes I'm Ford, then it'll look weird if I'm not there with you for our first baby."

She wanted to scream at him, "It's not ours!" but she knew that would get her nowhere. "I'll think about it," she said quietly. Not knowing what else to do, she went to the kitchen.

Sherlock followed her. "We need to talk about this."

"We are talking," she said as she searched the fridge. _No decent leftovers, I'll have to make something and I'm really not in the mood to cook._

"Let me get take-away then we can talk. Really talk."

She closed the refrigerator door then looked at him. "Again, we are really talking."

"Not about the things we should."

"Such as?"

"Tonight. We'll have to share a bed."

"No," she said immediately and firmly. "You're not Ford, you're not getting anywhere near me."

He groaned in frustration. "For God's sake, I'm not talking about sex right now, I'm talking about us sleeping in the same bed."

"The bed my husband and I have shared since we moved in together. No."

"Molly … for all intents and purposes, I'm your husband now."

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Molly said, her voice dangerously low, "if you ever, **ever** say that to me again, not only will I kill you and get away with it, I will make sure no one ever finds your body." She smirked. "At least, not all of it."

Sherlock stared at her, swallowing audibly. "Understood."

"Good." She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. "You were saying something about take-away?"

She had never seen anyone more eager to get away.


	35. 03 Comfort

A/N: For the June 6th prompt - "You are standing on one side of a closed door." Rated T. Immediately follows One Step Too Far.

* * *

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course she would get mad at that. Thank God she'd never actually do what she threatened._ Sherlock berated himself all the way to the Chinese restaurant Ford had told him Molly liked then again all the way back.

Night had fallen by the time he walked into the house. He found Molly on the sofa in the sitting room, mindlessly watching _Glee_.

"Molly?" he asked gently. "I got your favorites. Do you want to eat in here?"

She wordlessly turned off the telly then got up and followed him into the kitchen. The opened containers were waiting for them on the peninsula. Molly sat down and started eating, not looking at him. Sherlock sat across from her, watching her worriedly as his own food grew cold.

She was halfway through her sweet-and-sour shrimp before she spoke. "Ford told you my favorite Chinese food?" She still didn't look at him.

"He told me everything he knew about you," Sherlock said gently. "Well, not so much told as wrote." He pulled a memory stick out of his pocket. "He made documents about everything he thought I should know."

Molly finally looked up at that. "The day of his doctor's appointment, he stayed up late writing something. He said it was something for work."

"It was this, everything I need to know in order to be Ford Holmes."

She eyed the memory stick warily. "There's stuff in there about me, isn't there?"

Sherlock nodded. "Your likes and dislikes, the timeline of your and Ford's relationship, all the things he thought I should know about you."

"I want to see it."

"No, Molly," he said gently. "This is you as Ford saw you. You might not agree with it."

She raised her eyes to his, scowling. "He wrote about our sex life, didn't he?"

 _Do I tell her the truth and watch her temper flare again or do I lie and spare her the embarrassment?_

She rolled her eyes. "Your silence is all the confirmation I need. Did you read that part?"

He couldn't help blushing. "Yes, but I felt it was necessary."

"Yes, well, you won't get to find out first-hand," she muttered, going back to her food.

Sherlock finally remembered his food and started eating. "You're not angry?"

"Oh, I'm incredibly angry, but more at Ford right now than you." She sighed quietly. "Why did he have to include that? What happens … happened in our bed was our business, no one else's."

"He wanted me to know how to pleasure you," he said gently. "He didn't want you to be unsatisfied."

"I can satisfy myself, thank you very much," Molly muttered. "I'm not inviting you into my bed just because you're filling in for my husband. You can sleep in the guestroom."

"Molly…"

"No, Sherlock," she said firmly. "There are boundaries to this relationship and that's one of them."

"Alright…"

They ate in silence for several minutes. Finally, Molly got up and threw her empty cartons into the bin.

"I'm going to bed," she declared.

Sherlock glanced at the clock. "It's barely eight. Only small children go to bed at this hour."

"I just lost my husband, I think I'm entitled to an early night." She sighed. "I'll put fresh sheets on the bed in the guestroom."

"I can take care of that," he insisted.

She nodded then left the room without saying goodnight.

* * *

Hours later, Sherlock lay on the guestroom bed, unable to sleep. He could hear Molly sobbing in the next room and he desperately wanted to go to her. _She needs me right now, even if she won't admit it._ Finally, he got up and left the guestroom. He hesitated a moment before lightly knocking on her bedroom door. Her sobs were even louder now.

When she didn't respond, he tried the knob. It was unlocked so he slowly opened the door. Molly was curled in a fetal position in the middle of the bed, sobbing into a pillow he guessed was Ford's. Swallowing hard, he cautiously approached the bed.

"Molly?" he asked softly.

She didn't respond. After a moment, he crawled into bed behind her then lightly stroked her hair. Molly froze so Sherlock did too.

"Let me hold you, Molly," he murmured. "Let me comfort you."

She didn't move for several minutes then she finally straightened. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her from behind, holding her close.

"Don't … don't leave," she whispered, "not tonight."

"I'll stay as long as you need me to," he murmured.


	36. 04 Compromise

A/N: For the June 10th prompt - "Write about a compromise." Rated T. The morning after Comfort.

* * *

Molly woke the next morning in a man's arms. For a brief moment, she let herself imagine they were Ford's arms, that everything was alright. _But it's not true, nothing will be alright ever again._ She started to weep quietly, even though she thought she had no more tears left.

"Molly?" Sherlock asked softly. "It's alright, I'm here…"

She slowly turned in his arms to face him. _He looks so much like Ford, but also not like Ford_. She brought a hand up to touch his cheek, just below his black eye. His blue-green eyes were worried, but also sunken. _God, when was the last time he ate or slept regularly? He looks like shite._ Molly wondered at the path her thoughts had taken, focusing on Sherlock rather than Ford or her own pain. _He needs me,_ she realized. _Ford didn't tell him that, but it's clear he expects me to take care of Sherlock just like he told Sherlock to take care of me._

"Sherlock," she asked softly, "have you cried at all since Ford told you he was dying?"

"I don't cry. I haven't cried since I was a child."

"Scream, then? Done anything besides bottling up your feelings?"

He sighed quietly. "I'm here for you, Molly. Your loss is a lot worse than mine."

"Bullshit," she said firmly. "I lost my husband and you lost your twin. He was the other half of both of us, in different ways."

Sherlock swallowed hard. "I … I can't break down in front of you. I need to be strong for you."

"We can be strong for each other," she said gently, "and we can be weak too." She softly kissed his forehead.

Something about that was like a dam bursting. Sherlock pulled her tightly to him, burying his face in her neck as he sobbed, his body trembling.

Molly held him close, one hand stroking his curls. She felt her own tears start again. _Did they even stop?_

They held each other and cried for what seemed like forever to Molly but by the time she had calmed down, she did feel a little better. _Ready to face the day, at least. Thank God it's Saturday. Wait..._ "Sherlock?" she asked softly.

He lifted his head, his eyes red and tearstreaks on his cheeks. "Yes?"

"Did Ford deliberately plan to switch on a Friday so we'd have the weekend to adjust?"

Sherlock chuckled weakly. "Yeah." He turned onto his back, wiping his face with the back of one hand, the other arm still around her. "He thought it would make this easier for both of us."

Molly felt the urge to curl into his side and forget the world existed. She ignored it. "I don't know if 'easier' is the right word, but I think this will help. I … I'm sorry I woke you up last night."

"You didn't – I couldn't sleep, I kept thinking about you, alone in your grief."

He gave her the slightest tug and she gave into her urge, laying her head on his shoulder and curling her body into his side. "I'm glad you came." She thought things over for a moment. "Sherlock, if you promise to be a gentleman, you can sleep here."

He chuckled. "I'm not a gentleman, despite how I was raised, but I promise I'll behave."

"Thank you. After so many years of sleeping beside Ford, it's hard to sleep alone."

"I've almost always slept alone, but I'm willing to make an adjustment." His hand lightly stroked her hair. "I'm happy to confirm what Ford said – you don't snore."

She laughed weakly. "Thanks. Neither do you."

"Thank you."

Molly started thinking about everything that needed to be done before Monday but her thoughts kept coming back to the man beside her. _I'll take care of him, Ford, I promise._ A new thought struck her and she lifted her head to look at him. "Oh God, what about your parents? And Mycroft? Do they know?"

"Are you kidding?" Sherlock asked, wide-eyed. "Ford's their favorite. They already hate me for existing, I don't need them to hate me for surviving too. Honestly, they'll be relieved to put 'Sherlock' to rest – I caused them nothing but heartache."

She stared at him. "You're going to keep this a secret from them forever?"

"If I can, yeah. At the very least, we won't tell my parents. Mycroft's shrewd, he might figure it out, but I don't think he'd blow my cover, for Ford's sake and yours."

She nodded then laid her head on his shoulder again. "I just hope I can keep up this charade … lie … whatever."

"Don't think of it as a lie. We're keeping Ford alive in a way."

"He lives on in the baby." She swallowed hard. "Why did he insist on you becoming him? Why couldn't he just have me be a widow?"

"He thought you needed a husband more than you needed a brother-in-law." She tensed and he must have felt it. "I was blunt last night and I'm sorry for that but what I said is true – I'm your husband now, Molly. I'll let you decide what that means."

 _What does it mean? God, I don't even know right now. I just want to lay here and forget about everything._ "We can figure that out later," she said quietly, wrapping her arm around his waist. "For now, let's just hold each other."


	37. 05 Jealous of a Dead Man

A/N: For the December 23rd prompt - "Something you want but cannot have." Rated M. A big thank you to all of my readers, you keep me going.

* * *

It was almost noon by the time they were ready to face the day. Sherlock watched as Molly got out of bed and stretched. _God, she's beautiful. It's probably wrong to be jealous of a dead man but I can't help it._

She caught him watching at her and blushed then pulled her blue silk dressing gown on over her nightgown. "I'll start breakfast."

Sherlock got up. "I'll take a shower." Instead of going straight to the bathroom, he first went around to her side of the bed then leaned down to softly kiss her cheek. "It'll get better, Molly," he murmured.

"I … I know." She looked like she wanted to say more but then she turned and left the room.

He went into the bathroom. Taking off his t-shirt, he got a good look at his torso in the mirror over the sink. _Bruises everywhere. I guess I'm lucky they didn't break my ribs._ The heat of the spray did help his muscles once he was in the shower, but it didn't help the arousal he was feeling for Molly. _God, I want nothing more than to show her how much she turns me on but there's no way she'll ever let me touch her. Ford wrote that they made love regularly, she's going to miss that intimacy after a while. Would I have sex with her knowing it's Ford she really wants?_ His hard cock was all the answer he needed.

He squeezed some of Molly's vanilla-scented body wash into his hand then wrapped it around his cock, imagining her on her knees in front of him, her mouth wrapped around his cock as he started to stroke himself. _Oh God, sweetheart…_ He groaned softly. _You really know how to make a man feel good, don't you? My little sweetheart. I'm gonna fill that pretty little mouth of yours, then your pretty little cunt…_ She deep-throated him and he came with a shout.

Once he and the shower stall were clean, Sherlock went through the rest of his brother's morning routine then he pulled on jeans and a t-shirt. The gold band on his left ring finger caught the light and he sighed quietly. _I wonder when this will actually feel like a marriage._

He found Molly in the kitchen, frying eggs. Unable to resist, he wrapped his arms around her from behind. He felt her stiffen then relax.

"I guess I'm going to have to get used to that," she murmured. "Ford was very affectionate. I'm sure he told you that."

"He did," Sherlock murmured, bending his head to kiss her neck.

She shivered. "You don't have to do this right now, Sherlock – no one's watching."

 _I would love to watch you, Molly._ He reluctantly let go of her then poured himself a cup of coffee and added two sugars.

She looked over at him, smiling a bit. "That's not how he took it – you forgot the cream and two more sugars."

Sherlock made a face. "Just because my brother had a sweet tooth a mile long, that doesn't mean I need to. At least, not here at home."

Molly suddenly blushed then turned back to the food, sliding the eggs onto a plate. "Here, the steak's in the oven, it should be done now."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Steak and eggs? What's the occasion?"

"You, you're too thin. You need to bulk up more if Ford's clothes are going to fit you properly."

"Right." He took the steak out of the oven and put it on the plate with his eggs then carried them and his coffee to the peninsula. He sat down and started eating, one eye on her. "What made you blush?"

"What?" She got started on her own eggs.

"You blushed after I mentioned Ford's sweet tooth."

"Oh, that… It's nothing."

"Molly…"

She sighed softly. "He would say that he loved sweets, but the sweetest thing he loved to eat was me."

Sherlock smiled a bit. _Nope, not surprised._ "He … er … didn't mention that."

"Maybe he didn't think it was important enough to mention." She carried her food and coffee to the peninsula and sat across from him. "I'm sure there are other things he didn't tell you, I guess we'll find out together."

He grinned mischievously. "He didn't tell me what it feels like to kiss you." He lowered his eyes to her lips. "Maybe he intended me to find out on my own."

Molly's blush was back. "Uh, no. You said you'd behave."

"And so I will, but that doesn't stop me from wanting."

She stared down at her coffee and didn't say anything for several minutes. "Sherlock, why weren't you at the wedding? You were supposed to be the best man."

He sighed quietly. "I met someone. She was the most beautiful, intelligent, sexy woman I had ever met. Still is. Then I realized she was engaged to someone I knew and I went on a bender."

She looked up at him, surprised. "What? Why haven't I heard this before? Ford said after that you just couldn't be bothered to show up, but I knew that wasn't true."

"I wasn't about to tell my brother that I was in love with his new wife."

Molly stared at him. "What?"

"We met at the pub, remember? Everyone was celebrating your engagement. I had just arrived and saw this gorgeous brunette sitting at the bar and decided to talk her up. You were so sweet to me, a hell of a lot nicer than any other woman there that night. By the time Ford joined us, I was in love."


	38. 06 Something To Hold Onto

A/N: For the June 1st prompt - "Write about something to hold onto." Rated T. Immediately follows Jealous of a Dead Man.

* * *

Molly stared at him. "What … what am I supposed to say to that?"

Sherlock sighed quietly. "Don't say anything. You don't need to, I know you'll always be Ford's. Just … forget I said anything." He finished his breakfast quickly. "I'm going to see what needs to be done in the backyard." He was gone without another word.

She sat with her elbows on the peninsula and her head in her hands. _Sherlock's in love with me? Has been since we met? What in the hell do I do now?_ She could almost hear Ford's delighted laugh. _Was he playing matchmaker? Did he know how Sherlock felt? I don't care what Sherlock said, we need to talk about this._

Molly got up and tightened her dressing gown around herself then went to the back door and stepped outside. She found Sherlock on the porch swing, staring off into space.

"Hey," she said softly as she sat down next to him.

Sherlock came back to reality and sighed quietly when he saw her. "I don't need your pity, Molly."

"This isn't about pity. Did Ford know?"

"No. Or at least, if he did, he didn't say anything."

"The switch was his idea. I think he knew and he wanted you to have not just a second chance but a happier life." She gently took his hand. "I don't know if you and I will ever have what Ford and I had, but I'm willing to open up to you, Sherlock. We're … spouses but we need to work on the other things too."

"Like being lovers?" His look was so hopeful that she almost smiled.

"Like being friends. Until yesterday, we were barely more than acquaintances, your feelings for me aside. Ford told you pretty much everything about me, but I know so little about you."

"You knew Ford, that's all you're going to need to know," he muttered, not looking at her.

She lightly touched his cheek and he turned to her again. "You're not him. The world will think you're him but I know the truth. You're your own man, a man I very much want to get to know."

He stared at her as if he couldn't quite believe his ears. "I'm a cocaine addict who never succeeded at anything he did after uni. It's only a matter of time before the withdrawal symptoms start and you start to hate me. I've been through withdrawal before, I know how I get. Once you've kicked me out, I'll have nothing, not even my real name, except the memory of a few bright days I spent as your husband."

"Sherlock…" She sighed quietly. "I'm not going to kick you out, no matter how bad you get, and I could never hate you. Giving both of us this chance was Ford's dying wish so as far as I'm concerned, this is for life."

He stared at her. "Molly … thank you."

"You're welcome." She gently squeezed his hand. "I get the feeling you never had unconditional support when you were growing up."

"You'd be right," he muttered. "Ford was the golden child, I was 'the other one.'"

"Well, you have it here. No matter what, I will be there for you." For a moment, she thought he was going to cry, but then he suddenly pulled her into his lap and hugged her fiercely. She hugged him back, one hand lightly stroking his curls.

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat and a male voice Molly didn't recognize asked, "Mr. and Dr. Holmes?"

Both of them looked up to see a man in a suit standing at their garden gate and Molly felt Sherlock tense up. The man held up a badge. "Detective Inspector Lestrade. Mr. Holmes, could I speak with you for a moment?"

"Yes, of course," Sherlock said.

Molly got up then watched as Sherlock got up and walked over to the detective. She knew by the look on the man's face why he'd come.

 _They found Ford._


	39. 07 Promises Made

A/N: For the October 15th prompt - "Write about promises made." Rated T. Immediately follows Something To Hold Onto.

* * *

After the detective left, Sherlock insisted that the two of them go back inside. He could tell Molly knew what he was going to say. _At least it won't be a shock._ They sat down on the sitting room couch and he gently took her hands.

"They found Ford's body in an alley," he said softly. "The wallet was in his pocket so the police knew who to contact. Molly … he was murdered."

"Oh God," she gasped, her eyes wide with horror.

"They caught the suspects. From the sound of it, it was the same thugs who beat me up. They won't hurt anyone else, sweetheart."

"I need to see him," she said firmly.

"No," Sherlock said, just as firmly. "He was beat to hell before he died, I won't let you see him like that. They want me to come down and identify the body."

"I'm going with you. If he's really as beat up as you say, then only I can identify him."

He sighed quietly. "Christ, Ford said you were stubborn, but I underestimated just how much. Alright, you can come, but if you even think you're going to faint or throw up, you're leaving the room."

"I understand."

* * *

Sherlock was grateful they weren't in Molly's morgue. He kept an arm around her shoulder as the pathologist pulled out the body.

It wasn't a pretty sight – his face had been completely bashed in, there were large bruises all over his torso, one arm was broken, and from what Sherlock could tell, both of his kneecaps as well. Molly gasped when she saw him then buried her face in Sherlock's coat. He wrapped his arms around her.

"It's him," he said quietly, looking at Lestrade over Molly's head.

The detective nodded. "You have my condolences. We'll make sure his body's released as soon as possible."

"Thank you. Can we have a moment alone with him?"

"Sure." He nodded at the pathologist and both of them left.

"They're gone, sweetheart," he murmured, squeezing her gently. "Say your goodbye."

Molly nodded then let go of him and turned to his brother. She moved closer to the body then leaned to softly kiss his forehead. "I love you, Ford," she whispered, barely loud enough for Sherlock to hear. "I always will. You did the right thing, now you can rest." She looked up at him, holding out her hand. "Say your goodbye too."

Sherlock came closer and took her hand then looked down at his brother. "I'm sorry it had to be this way." He leaned to whisper, "I'll take care of them, Ford. You can trust me. Thank you for this."

* * *

Neither of them spoke during the drive back to the house. As soon as they were home, Molly called his parents and Mycroft, who was spending the day with them, telling them of "Sherlock"'s death.

 _I can't hear them crying, but at least they're not cheering,_ he thought bitterly.

When she was off the phone, she turned to him, sighing in relief. "Your mother insists on taking care of the funeral plans herself. I don't think I could've handled that."

He laid a hand on her shoulder, saying softly, "There's no shame in that, Molly. C'mon, you should rest."

Molly nodded then he took her hand and led her upstairs to their bedroom. She changed in the bathroom while he stripped down to his boxers. As soon as she came out, she raised an eyebrow at him.

Sherlock smiled weakly. "I'll rest with you, if that's alright."

"It's fine." She approached him slowly, her eyes on his torso. "Are you in pain?" she asked softly.

"Not as much as I was yesterday. I'll be fine, Molly."

She nodded. "Did Ford give you his exercise regimen?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Yeah, it's a hell of a lot of weight-lifting and jogging for a banker." At her expectant look, he added, "I'll start it Monday."

"Good." She blushed slightly. "Don't get me wrong, you have a nice body, you're just not as fit as he was."

Sherlock grinned. "This body's free whenever you have need of it." She rolled her eyes and he added, softer, "I mean it, Molly. I heard pregnant women can get really aroused from all the hormones, plus I know you and Ford made love a lot, so, if you find yourself really missing sex, I'm here."

She shook her head sadly. "I can't just use somebody for sex like that, Sherlock. Especially you."

"Why especially me?" he murmured.

"You're my husband now, we're going to be together for the rest of our lives. If I have sex with you, then it has to mean something emotionally."

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat when she called him her husband. "It would for me," he murmured, "but you're saying it wouldn't mean anything for you?" He tried hard not to be hurt by that.

"I'm saying it wouldn't mean enough. I know you love me, Sherlock, so it would be wrong for us to have sex if I don't love you."

He smiled weakly. "Has anyone ever told you you're a little too ethical, Molly?"

She smiled back. "When I find something good, I don't want to ruin it." They got into bed. After a moment, she curled to his side and he wrapped his arm around her.

"Molly?" he murmured. "Did you mean it when you said I'm your husband?"

"Yes," she murmured. "It didn't feel right calling you that while there was a chance Ford was still alive but now…" She swallowed hard. "Now I know I have just one husband."

He softly kissed her hair. "We'll get through this, sweetheart."

There was a small smile in her voice. "You keep calling me that. Ford called me 'angel.'"

"I know, and I'll call you that in public, but I wanted something else to call you when we're alone."

"Mmm, I like it..." That was the last thing she said before she drifted off.


	40. 08 Stealing Time

A/N: For the August 20th prompt - "Write about stealing time." Rated T. Follows Promises Made.

* * *

Molly woke Saturday evening to an empty bed. "Sherlock?" she called out. There was no response from the bathroom. After using the bathroom herself, she pulled on her dressing gown and went downstairs.

Sherlock was in the kitchen, scowling at one of her cookbooks. She couldn't help feeling a tiny bit disappointed that he was dressed. "None of this makes any sense," he muttered.

"What is it you're trying to do?" she asked, curious. Molly saw a post-it covering the clock on the stove, and another covering the clock on the microwave. "Sherlock, what's going on?"

"My parents must have told everyone about 'my' death. I started getting a bunch of 'condolence' calls and I wanted to put a stop to it before anyone called you." He set the cookbook down then gently took her hands. "We're stealing time, Molly. All the clock faces are hidden and both of our phones are off. Any calls that come in will go straight to voice-mail. I decided that we needed to take some time for ourselves after everything that's happened. Don't think about how long something takes, and definitely don't think about the outside world. If you need a break from me, take it."

She blinked in surprise. "I don't need a break from you, you're the only thing that's keeping me sane right now. A break from the outside world does sound nice, though." She softly kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Sherlock."

His cheeks colored slightly. "You're welcome."

"Were you going to cook something?"

"I was trying to." He went back to the cookbook. "I thought cooking was just about following a recipe, but none of them make any sense. How am I supposed to 'fold in' two eggs?"

Molly giggled. "Sherlock, if you're hungry, I can make you something."

"Would you?" He sounded relieved. "I'm getting nowhere slow with this thing." He set the cookbook down again.

"What would you like?"

The way he looked at her told her what he really wanted was her, but all he said was, "Um, chocolate cake?"

Molly felt her cheeks grow warm. "I can do that." _Maybe I should just take him up on his offer. We're married, after all._ She pulled out the recipe then gathered the ingredients.

Sherlock leaned against the peninsula, watching her. "Ford couldn't get enough of your biscuits."

She smiled a bit. "Ford couldn't get enough of anything I made. Honestly, that exercise regimen of his was partly to counteract all the baked goods he ate." _The sex helped too._

He chuckled. "Now it makes sense."

"Do you know how to cook anything, Sherlock?"

"If it doesn't involve reheating in the microwave, no."

She smiled a bit. "Typical bachelor. Well, you're a married man now, it's time you learned a few things. Come closer."

"As my lady commands," he said, grinning, as he came over to her.

Molly had him read the recipe to her and she showed him which each step meant. When the batter was finished, she wasn't surprised at all when he stole a spoonful.

"You do realize there's raw egg in that, right?" she asked, smirking.

Sherlock grinned at her as he licked the spoon. "I ate this stuff all the time when I was a kid, hasn't killed me yet."

Her eyes kept straying to his tongue as he continued to lick the spoon clean. He, of course, noticed.

He leaned to murmur in her ear, "Anytime you want me to lick you clean, just say the word, Molly."

Molly felt her cheeks flame and she playfully swatted his arm. "Behave, Sherlock."

Sherlock chuckled. "Nah, misbehaving is much more fun." He softly kissed her cheek, grinning. "You can't tell me you're not having fun, Molly Holmes."

"I am," she said, grinning back, "and it's Dr. Molly Holmes."

"How can I forget the title of the sexiest pathologist in London?"

Molly laughed. "I'd be flattered except that that's not a large group."

He grinned wider. "Sexiest pathologist in Europe?"

She grinned back. "Much better, thank you."

"You're welcome."

He helped her pour the batter into three cake pans then Molly put them in the oven while she started on the frosting. Once again, Sherlock stole a spoonful when it was done. He tried to take another but she pushed his spoon away.

"Stop or there won't be enough for the cake," she said, unable to keep from smiling at his sad puppy expression. It was his lower lip wibbling that did her in. "What do I have to do to keep you from eating more of the frosting?"

His delighted grin went from ear to ear. "Kiss me."

"Easy enough." She kissed his cheek.

"Nope, not good enough."

"Well, then…" She kissed his chin.

"Getting closer."

"Hmph." She kissed the tip of his nose.

"Oh, Molly…" Sherlock took her in his arms and proceeded to snog her breathless.

Molly could only think one thing.

 _Bloody hell, I'm in deep…_


	41. 09 Simple Pleasures

A/N: For the September 25th prompt - "Write about a simple pleasure." Rated T. Immediately follows Stealing Time.

* * *

Sherlock knew the instant Molly started to feel guilty. One moment, she was kissing him back and he was thinking of taking her upstairs. The next, she was tensing up then pulling back. He kept his arms around her, though. _I'm not letting you go yet, sweetheart._

"Oh God, what are we doing?" she asked, tears in her eyes. "Ford's body isn't even buried yet and we're kissing…"

"Molly, listen to me," he said gently. "Part of the reason Ford wanted us to switch was that you wouldn't waste your life grieving for him. He would be thrilled that you've moved on so fast – he wanted you to be happy."

She stared at him like he had slapped her. "I have not moved on! I was caught up in the moment! It didn't mean anything!"

"The hell it didn't!" He took a deep breath. "I love you, Molly. I know you don't love me yet but dammit, you're getting there. Ford wanted this, he wanted us to be a couple. He's not your husband anymore, I am. You're not cheating on him."

"You don't even care about how I feel."

"I do, I swear I do, but your doubts are misplaced." She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. "I'm not saying this to get you into bed, I know you're not ready. But you have to believe that what you feel for me isn't wrong. Yes, Ford just died, but you have me now."

"Oh, like you're so interchangeable," she muttered. "I can't just transfer love from one person to another, Sherlock, it doesn't work that way." She pulled out of his arms and this time, he let her. "I don't care what he said, I need time to grieve for Ford."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked softly. "If you want me to leave, I'll do it, Molly."

Molly swallowed hard. "No, I want you to stay, but I need time. And space."

"I'll sleep in the guestroom."

She nodded. "No kissing, definitely no sex. Just … just don't touch me, alright?"

"Molly…"

"I mean it, Sherlock. Your touch is too distracting."

A small part of him was bouncing up and down with joy over that revelation but the rest of him was concerned for her. "You need a shoulder to cry on. No one else knows the truth about Ford."

"I … I'll get by on my own for now."

She shivered and he desperately wanted to take her in his arms again, if only to warm her, but he didn't move. "Take a bath."

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Take a long, hot bath. It'll relax you."

"But the cake-"

"I'll take care of that." He smiled a bit. "I should be able to at least frost a cake."

She hesitated. "If you're sure…"

"Positive. But leave the bathroom door unlocked in case you need me."

"Why would I need you?"

 _Why indeed?_ He sighed. "Just humor me."

She assessed him for a moment then nodded. "Alright." She left the room.

Sherlock turned to the oven. "We meet at last, bête noire."

* * *

He gave himself credit for knocking first instead of just barging in.

"Not decent," was her response and he thought he heard the smile in her voice.

 _At least she sounds like she's in a better mood._ "Don't care, still coming in."

"Sherlock…" There was a warning in her voice.

"We're both adults, Molly."

"Yeah, that's the problem."

"Just because I worship the ground you walk on and have thought of you exclusively every time I've wanked in the past three years, that doesn't mean I'm going to jump you as soon as I see you naked."

"Sherlock!"

 _Now I can hear her blushing,_ he thought, grinning. "I'm coming in, Molly."

"Can't it wait?"

"Nope."

A heavy, put-upon sigh. "Fine. Come in."

Sherlock grinned to himself as he held the plate in one hand and opened the door with the other. He quickly walked into the room and shut the door behind him, not wanting the heat to escape. Molly was sitting in the old-fashioned claw-footed tub, her hair pinned up, and she was holding a flannel over her breasts, the rest of her hidden by the fluffy white bubbles.

She looked at him warily until she noticed the contents of the plate and her eyes widened. "Is that a piece of the cake?"

"Um, yes."

She smiled a bit. "Did you cut it or blow it up?"

He smiled sheepishly. "The layers fell apart when I took them out of the pans. I … er … tried to use the frosting to kind of cement them back together, but it didn't work. It still tastes good, I promise."

She smiled at him fondly and he felt like he'd won the lottery. "Did you bring a fork?"

Sherlock grinned, pulling a fork out of his pocket. He gave it and the plate to her and she took a bite.

"You're right," she said, grinning, "it's perfect."

"Just like you," he murmured, making sure his eyes never strayed past her face.

Molly blushed and took another bite. Her movements caused the flannel to slip a bit.

"God, I've never wanted to be a wet flannel so much in my life," he muttered as he knelt beside the tub.

Her blush deepened. "Are you always this flirty?"

He kissed her cheek, grinning. "I'll be even worse when we're lovers."

She smiled a bit. "I have no doubt about that."

"That I'll flirt with you even more, or that we'll be lovers?"

"Both. We're married, we'll be lovers eventually. I just need more time."

He grinned wider. "I love your confidence, Molly."


	42. 10 Hard Enough

A/N: For the December 7th prompt - "Write about hard times." Yeah, I'm totally going where you think I am with that. Let's call the rating a hard T. ;) Immediately follows Simple Pleasures.

* * *

Sherlock stayed and talked with Molly as she sat in the bath, his eyes only straying to the flannel covering her breasts when it occasionally slipped.

"This was a good idea, Sherlock, thank you," she murmured.

He smiled softly. "You're welcome, sweetheart, but I think I'd better leave – it's hard enough to not look at your breasts, even with the flannel in the way, but now that the bubbles are gone…"

"What?" She looked down and saw that all the bubbles were indeed gone and nothing was covering her lower half except water. She blushed brightly. _I was so focused on him that I didn't notice._

Sherlock chuckled. "I didn't peek, I swear. I don't need to – I know you're beautiful."

That did absolutely nothing to stop her blush. "Um, thank you."

"You're welcome." He leaned over to kiss her hair then got up and left the room.

Molly swore she heard Ford laughing genially at the two idiots he left behind.

* * *

She walked into the bedroom to find Sherlock in just his pajama bottoms, no shirt. She couldn't help blushing anew.

Sherlock turned to her. "Oh, Molly. I … I'm not staying, I'm just changing then I'll go to the guestroom." He pulled on a t-shirt.

Molly was about to ask him to stay but then the feeling of his lips on hers came to mind. _I don't know if I can control myself around him._ "Alright. Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, Molly." He looked at her like he wanted to kiss her again then he shook his head a bit and left, closing the door behind him.

* * *

After spending hours tossing and turning, Molly gave up just as dawn was breaking. She got up and went to the guestroom, not even knocking before she opened the door.

Sherlock was asleep on his back. Molly came in and softly closed the door behind her then slowly, carefully climbed into bed next to him. Still, Sherlock woke up.

He blinked at her sleepily. "Molly?" he whispered.

"I couldn't sleep," she murmured, "not without you. I'm sorry, Sherlock – it's your bed now as well as mine. You have every right to sleep in it too."

Sherlock held out his arm and she curled to his side, her head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her. "But it wasn't sleeping you were worried about, was it?"

"No. I trust you, I'm just not sure I can trust myself."

"I think you can. You're the strongest person I know, Molly."

"Thank you." She yawned softly, fully relaxing for the first time in hours, and was soon asleep.

* * *

Molly woke up late that morning to a very nice sight. Sherlock was on his side, facing her, both arms around her. His face was completely relaxed as he slept and she was mesmerized by his plush lips. She couldn't help the sigh that escaped her own.

Sherlock didn't wake up but he did pull her closer and that's when she felt his cock pressing against her stomach. Her cheeks flamed. _It's just his morning erection, they're perfectly normal. It's a sign that he's in good health, really. I should be happy for him, it means his drug use didn't cause too much damage._

 _Oh, cut the crap, Margaret Anne,_ she chided herself. _You want that cock in you and you want it now. Forget emotions, this is pure biology. Well, maybe "pure" isn't the right word._

"I can practically hear your thoughts, Molly," he murmured in her ear, making her jump. "You're debating what to do about my rather obvious condition."

"Something like that," she admitted. She smiled at him warmly when he lifted his head to gaze at her. "Good morning, Sherlock."

He grinned back. "Good morning, Molly. I'd apologize for my current state but I'm not at all sorry."

Her entire body was screaming for him take her but she ignored it. "I'll … um … let you take care of it." She scooted away from him then got out of bed.

Sherlock's grin widened. "Would you like to watch?"

 _Oh God, yes…_ "Um, no."

He chuckled. "Liar. But at least you'll be in my thoughts."

"Sherlock!" _And here I thought my cheeks couldn't get any hotter._ She left the room in a hurry, his soft laughter following her.


	43. 11 For His Sake and Hers

A/N: For the January 1st prompt - "Write about Sunday afternoon." Immediately follows Hard Enough. Rated a hard T, but not for a happy reason. I want to apologize in advance for what Sherlock says. It is absolutely horrible and something no woman should hear.

* * *

Sherlock decided to tease Molly a bit more. After a shower, he walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but a rather small towel wrapped around his hips. _All in good, clean fun._

Molly was at the stove, making pancakes. "Hungry?" she asked, not turning around.

He smirked. "Starving. Some food would be nice too."

She turned to him and nearly dropped the spatula, her eyes wide and her cheeks decidedly pink. "Sherlock…"

"Yes?" he asked innocently.

"Put some clothes on?" She didn't sound very firm about wanting that.

He smirked. "For my sake or yours?"

Molly rolled her eyes, still blushing. "Both."

Sherlock leaned to kiss her cheek, grinning. "Should I just leave this here?" he asked, one hand on the towel.

"Sherlock!"

He chuckled as he left the kitchen. _Oh, Molly, being your husband is the most fun I've ever had._ He got dressed then went back downstairs.

Molly glanced at him long enough to make sure he was dressed then she shoved a plate of pancakes and a cup of coffee at him, still blushing. He grinned at her then sat down at the peninsula with them. She joined him with her own plate and coffee.

"It's okay for you to drink that?" he asked, curious.

"The medical opinion seems to change every year," Molly said, rolling her eyes, "but my doctor is alright with one small cup a day. I'd kill for a venti."

He chuckled. "As soon as you're out of the hospital, I'll take you to Starbucks."

"You're a god," she said firmly.

Sherlock laughed. "Thank you for noticing."

Molly rolled her eyes then they ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Sherlock reached over to take her hand.

"Ford told me everything he could about himself and his life now," he said softly, "but that was only his point of view. I want to know how you saw him."

She sighed quietly. "He was the light of my life. There wasn't a day we had together that I didn't laugh. Ford wasn't just my husband, he was my best friend. He always knew when I'd had a bad day and tried to fix it, whether it was getting my favorite take-away, watching a _Glee_ marathon, or making love for hours."

Sherlock smiled a bit. "How was he in bed?"

Molly blushed. "I don't think that's something you should know, Sherlock."

"You're always going to compare me to him, I want to know what I'm up against." His tone was even, but inside he was irritated. _I've always come second to him, from the day we were born. It didn't bother me until now._

She glared at him. "That's not fair."

"Fair or not, it's the truth."

"What do you want me to say? I cannot, and will not, forget the years I had with Ford. To the rest of the world, you are him, but I know you're Sherlock. Sex between us will be different than it was with Ford or any other lover I've had. You don't need to know how he was."

"Yes, I do," he said firmly. "The way he wrote it, he could play you like a fucking violin. If I'm going to use the tips he gave me, I want to make sure they're sound."

"You're jealous."

"You're bloody fucking right I'm jealous! He had you for five years! He got you pregnant! He apparently made you happy. You, the woman I've been in love with for the past three years!" He didn't realize until she was shrinking away that at some point, he had stood up, slammed his hands on the peninsula, and was staring her down.

"Sherlock," she asked quietly, fearfully, "what is this?"

He swallowed hard. "The withdrawal, I can't fight it anymore." She reached out to him but he pulled away. "Don't touch me!" He turned away from her. "Bloody fucking hell, I need a fix…"

"You promised Ford you wouldn't. You told me you were clean."

Sherlock turned to glare at her. "Do you think I'd be acting this way if I wasn't? I haven't had a fix since Thursday, the day before we switched. It's been three days, the longest I've been clean in years. I'm doing this for you, Molly, and God fucking damn, you'd better be worth it."

She stared at him, her eyes hurt and angry. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means the 'natural highs' I get from your cunt and your mouth had better be the best fucking highs of my life or I'm just wasting my time here."

Molly swallowed hard. "You need to rethink your priorities, Sherlock," she said quietly. "Think about what means the most to you – the drugs or me and the baby. You can't have everything. I need a husband I can depend on, someone who's honest with me and himself." She reached out to take his hand. "I need you to be that man, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked down at their joined hands then turned and left the room. Just as he was walking out the front door, he heard her sobbing.

He kept walking.


	44. 12 Nothing Has Changed

A/N: For the August 17th prompt - "Nothing has changed." Rated T. Immediately follows For His Sake and Hers.

* * *

The sound of the slamming door shocked Molly out of her sobbing. _Sherlock left! Oh God, he's in no condition to… I have to help him!_ She got up and ran to the door, throwing it open.

Sherlock was on his knees in front of the hedges, throwing up. One of the neighbors across the street was looking over with mild curiosity.

"Long night there, Holmes?" he asked, grinning.

"Ford!" Molly shouted from the doorway, pretending to be annoyed instead of anxious. "Come back inside, you can work off your hangover there. And don't throw up on my petunias, you know Aunt Becky gave them to me."

Thankfully, Sherlock was aware enough to play along. "All the more reason why I should," he muttered as he stood up shakily.

Molly came out and helped him into the house, the neighbor telling Sherlock not to drink so much next Saturday night. As soon as the front door was closed, Sherlock shrugged off her hands. He was pale and trembling and Molly could just kick herself.

"Come on," she said gently, "I'm taking you upstairs."

Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something then he shook his head and lead the way up the stairs, almost losing his balance twice but Molly was right behind him to right him again. When they were in the bedroom, she helped him take off his vomit-soaked t-shirt and jeans. She took him into the bathroom and after a moment's consideration, she used a flannel and soap to wash the vomit off his chest.

Sherlock watched her for a moment. "I've fantasized about you giving me a sponge bath," he said quietly. "There wasn't any vomit involved."

Molly sighed quietly. "I shouldn't have gotten upset. You're not yourself right now, Sherlock. I forgot that and I'm sorry."

"After what I said, you have every right to be upset," he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

"I know you didn't mean it." She finished cleaning him then took a towel and dried him off. "Brush your teeth and rinse your mouth, stomach acid is really bad for tooth enamel."

"Of course I didn't mean it," he said vehemently, though it came out muffled since he talked around his toothbrush. He spat, rinsed out his mouth and the sink, then tried again. "Of course I didn't mean it. I'm here because I want to support you and the baby, not just because Ford asked me to but because I love you. I consider myself the luckiest man alive to be your husband and the father of your baby, and if we ever have sex, I promise I'll always put your pleasure above my own." He held out his hands in supplication. "I'm always going to be an addict, Molly. Can you accept that?"

She took his hands, saying softly, "Yes, Sherlock. Never leave me and I promise we can work out whatever happens." She smiled a bit. "And what's this talk of 'if' when it comes to our sex life? It's not 'if' but 'when.'"

"You're that certain?" he asked hopefully. "I thought after what I'd said…"

"That wasn't you talking." She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a soft, brief kiss. "I know the real you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. The real you holds me when my world is coming to an end. The real you flirts with me like crazy but keeps his eyes on mine when I'm taking a bath. The real you would do anything for me."

Sherlock looked at her like he desperately wanted to kiss her again but then he took a deep breath and smiled. "So, you're saying there's still a chance?"

Molly smiled a bit. "I'm saying it's a sure thing, once both of us have healed more."

He did kiss her then, taking her in his arms and kissing her so sweetly that Molly wanted to weep. She kissed him back and when they ran out of air, she pulled back, smiling at him gently.

"Go lay down, you need to rest. I'll get you some weak tea and toast, I just need to make a couple of phone calls first."

"Who are you calling?" he asked, curious.

"Ford's boss, Nat. You can't work like this. I'll tell her you're distraught over your brother dying. Then I'm calling your mother, she should know by now when the funeral is."

He swallowed hard. "I don't know if I'm up for that."

She hugged him gently. "You don't have to go. If you can't, we'll just say you're too distraught."

"You should go. He was your first husband, you'll regret it if you don't go."

"I said my goodbye at the morgue. Ford doesn't need me anymore, you do."

"Molly…" He sighed quietly. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"You're welcome."


	45. 13 You'll Be Daddy

A/N: For the April 8th prompt - "Write about your father's hands." Rated T. Immediately follows Nothing Has Changed.

* * *

Sherlock dozed off after Molly left the room, waking when she came back with food. He ate the tea and toast then fell asleep again. His dreams were too fleeting to remember the details, but the feelings stayed. _Fear. Anxiety. Peace. Arousal. Love._

* * *

Sherlock woke up again hours later, completely disoriented. The room was dark but he couldn't tell if it was late at night or early in the morning – the alarm clock display was covered with a post-it. _Still stealing time._ He was wondering what woke him when he heard Molly crying in the bathroom.

"Molly!" Sherlock was out of bed and at the bathroom door in record time.

The door was ajar. He pushed it open and found Molly sitting on the floor, sobbing. Sherlock sat down beside her.

"Are you hurt, sweetheart?" he asked gently.

Molly shook her head, tears still rolling down her face.

Sherlock gently pulled her into his lap and held her close. "Talk to me, Molly," he murmured, kissing her hair. "Let me make it better."

"You can't…" she whispered then she buried her face in his shoulder.

He gently stroked her hair. "I can try," he murmured. "At least let me try."

It was several minutes before she was willing to talk. "I got up to pee. Normally, I don't even look in the mirror when I go during the night, but this time I did. That's when I noticed I'm starting to show." She swallowed hard. "Did Ford tell you how long we tried to conceive?"

"Over two years," he said, "starting on your first anniversary."

She nodded then smiled weakly. "I didn't get pregnant until after we stopped trying. I don't know who was more surprised by the pregnancy test coming up positive, me or Ford, but we were both so excited. Ford went out and bought every pregnancy book he could find. He … he couldn't wait for me to start showing." She swallowed hard. "Now I am and he's not here to see it."

"Oh, sweetheart…" Sherlock softly kissed her forehead. "He would have been here, you know that. You have me now. I know it's not the same, but I swear I'll always be there for every step."

She lifted her head to look up at him. "You're right, it's not the same, but it's just as good."

His heart soared.

"I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here, Sherlock. I can't do this without you."

"You'll never have to."

* * *

When Sherlock woke up the next time, it was either late morning or early afternoon, going by the light outside. Molly's side of the bed was empty.

 _No surprise, she's at work._ He knew he could call her if his symptoms were too bad to handle. Sherlock took a shower and dressed then went downstairs and nearly collided with Molly in the kitchen.

"Oh, you're awake," she said, smiling. "How do you feel?"

"Ravenous and confused," he admitted. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"After I called Nat, I called my boss. Both of us have the week off to grieve." She reached out to take his hand. "The funeral's tomorrow at noon."

Sherlock nodded, squeezing her hand. "And the gathering after?"

"It's at your parents' place. Honestly, I hate going to those. Everyone ends up talking about everything except the deceased, it seems insensitive."

"Knowing my mother, she'll insist on talking about everything but me."

"We don't have to go to either."

He sighed quietly. "I'll think about it."

"Alright. What would you like?"

"Whatever you're having is fine." He sat down at the peninsula, watching her.

She smiled at him. "Egg salad sandwiches it is."

Sherlock chuckled. "What time is it?"

"Just past noon. I was going to wake you in an hour if you weren't up by then." She put four eggs on to boil then turned to him. "I want to thank you for last night."

"You don't need to thank me, sweetheart. You were hurting and I held you. It's what any husband would do."

"You didn't have to." She came over to him and took his hand. "You don't have to do any of this."

"I do it because I love you." He looked down at her stomach. Her top was loose enough that he couldn't see the bump. He looked up at her. "May I?"

She smiled softly. "Allow me." She lifted the hem of her top high enough that he could see her small baby bump.

It was barely noticeable but still, Sherlock was enchanted. He lightly laid a hand over it, the span of his hand covering the entire bump. "Hello," he said softly.

Molly said softly, "Hear that voice, baby? That's Daddy."

Sherlock stared at her. "I … I guess I do sound just like Ford."

"Oh, Sherlock," she murmured, smiling softly. "Ford's the father, but you'll be the one to raise the baby with me. You'll be the only one the baby knows. You'll be Daddy."

Too choked up to say anything, Sherlock stood then hugged Molly tightly. She hugged him back and laid her head on his chest.

"I'll be the best daddy I can," he murmured once he found his voice again.

"I know you will."


	46. 14 Reminisce

A/N: For the January 29th prompt - "The end of the day." Let's call this one a hard T. Immediately follows You'll Be Daddy.

* * *

Every time Molly found herself in Sherlock's arms, she never wanted the moment to end. She knew she was falling for him hard and fast, and the fact that Ford had wanted it hastened her feelings. Still, she felt guilty.

 _Ford has just died, I shouldn't even be thinking about another man, yet here I am, wanting nothing more than to let Sherlock in. It must be the intimacy of being married, it makes me feel so close to him already. He's so sweet and patient. He says he loves me and I believe him – I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me. I think I'm more than halfway in love with him._

 _The pregnancy hormones aren't helping. God, I want him to just take me. I know Sherlock's not Ford, I know sex with him won't be the same. Do I care? Not a bit. I want to feel him around me, inside me. I want it rough, I want it gentle. Fast. Slow. On the bed. The kitchen counter. Hell, the damn foyer, I don't care. I want my mouth on his cock and his mouth on my pussy. I want to squeeze that perfect arse of his and hear him moan my name in that voice that's enough to make me wet all by itself._

* * *

In bed that night, they laid in each other's arms with the lights off, sharing their memories of Ford. Molly watched Sherlock's face in the ambient light as he talked about the time he, Ford, and Mycroft had chicken pox at the same time. His smile warmed her.

"Poor Mum, we drove her mad," he said, smirking. "Of course, Mycroft was miffed that he caught a 'child's' disease – Ford and I were six, he was thirteen. All the grown-up dignity he'd built up totally dissolved when he complained about how itchy he was."

Molly giggled. "I wish I could have known both of you then. Of course, I was three when you and Ford were six, so it's not like we would've been playmates."

Sherlock chuckled. "I prefer it this way – you've missed my awkward teenage years and most of my benders. Only the best times are ahead of us."

She smiled softly. "You, awkward? I don't believe it."

"Believe it, sweetheart. There's a photo album at my parents' house full of photos of me from thirteen to seventeen – frizzy hair I never cut often enough, big ears, all limbs and no grace. Ford was the polished one. He actually modelled during our late teens."

She stared at him. "He never told me that."

"He was embarrassed by it later. Of course, every girl in school and uni was crazy about him."

Molly smiled playfully. "You're telling me none of them had enough sense to chase you?"

He laughed softly. "There was one girl – she asked if she could be in the middle of a Holmes twin sandwich."

She stared at him, grinning. "You're kidding! What did you say? What did Ford say?"

"He was willing-"

Molly smirked. "That doesn't surprise me." _Ford definitely loved sex._

"But I wasn't. It was our first year of uni and I was still a virgin. I didn't want my first time to be in a threesome with my brother and a girl I didn't know."

She brought a hand up to stroke his cheek. "When was your first time?" she asked softly.

"A year later. She was a drama major. It was definitely not her first time. I think she felt a little sorry for me – I was still awkward, still figuring out who I was."

"I wish I could've known you then too."

He smiled softly. "So do I. My first time was, well, not very memorable. Despite her best efforts, I didn't last long." He added, smiling a bit. "I've improved remarkably since then."

Molly giggled. "I'm sure you have." She kissed him softly. "I can't wait to see your improvement for myself."

He gazed at her. "Does that mean you're ready?"

"Not quite yet," she murmured, "but soon. What about you?"

He smiled softly. "Sweetheart, for you, I was born ready."

She laughed softly. "You know, I'm starting to believe that."


	47. 15 Laid to Rest

A/N: For the September 12th prompt - "In a cemetery." Rated a hard T. The morning after Reminisce.

* * *

Sherlock woke the morning of "his" funeral to his sleeping wife still in his arms. She still held him as well, her mouth distractingly close to his. He would have kissed her, he desperately wanted to kiss her, but he knew that would be ungentlemanly. Instead, he softly stroked her hair.

 _I love you, Molly. I know today isn't going to be easy for either of us, but I will be there for you._

She cuddled closer to him in her sleep and Sherlock froze as he felt his morning erection pressing against her stomach. _God, I need you… I'm being as patient as I can and it's absolutely killing me. I want to show you just how much I love you._

"Good morning, husband," she murmured sleepily against his neck.

Sherlock shivered. "Good morning, wife."

Molly lifted her head to gaze at him. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? I can tell your mother you're too upset."

"I owe it to Ford to be there." He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "Are you sure you want to go?"

"I'm sure. How do you feel, physically?"

"Shaky, craving a fix. That'll only get worse as the day goes on – my mother could drive a saint to drink."

She nodded. "If you can't take it, tell me and we'll make our excuses." She shifted a bit, her stomach pressing against his cock more. "Sherlock-"

"Sorry, Molly," he murmured, embarrassed. "It just … happens."

"Sherlock Holmes," she said gently but firmly, "you do not need to be embarrassed by anything your body does. It's perfectly natural, just like the pregnancy hormones making me incredibly horny is perfectly natural."

He grinned, delighted. "Incredibly horny, huh?"

Molly laughed softly. "Leave it to you to pick up on that part. Yes, Sherlock, I'm really aroused, but the time still isn't right."

"I'll be patient," Sherlock promised. "You're worth waiting for."

"So are you."

"I'm just going to need to … er … take care of myself until then. Like now."

She smiled a bit. "I'll leave you to that while I make breakfast." She kissed him softly then got up and left the room.

* * *

After they each showered and dressed, Sherlock drove them to the church. There was a group of his old friends in the car park, smoking. He swallowed hard.

Molly looked at the group then back at him. "You can do this, Sherlock," she said gently. "I'll be right there with you."

He nodded and they got out of the car. Molly took his hand as they walked out of the car park. He could feel his friends' eyes on them.

"Bloody hell," one of them muttered. "I forgot Sherlock was a twin."

As soon as they stepped inside the church, his mother pounced.

"Ford, Molly, there you are." Violet herded them to the front pew. Siger and Mycroft were already there. Mycroft's PA, Anthea, sat in the second pew, right behind her boss.

"Did you see those hooligans outside?" Violet asked, her disapproval loud and clear. "Sherlock's crowd. He always did associate with the wrong people."

Sherlock was about to say something but Molly beat him to it. "It's not nice to speak ill of the dead, Violet."

She tsked. "He was my son, I can speak of him however I like."

 _You always did,_ Sherlock thought darkly.

They sat down, Sherlock between Molly and Mycroft. She took his hand and squeezed it gently.

The service started but he couldn't focus on what was being said. He kept looking at the closed coffin holding his brother's body, and the large framed photograph of himself on a stand beside it. At one point, everyone turned to him expectantly. He belatedly realized he was expected to speak.

Sherlock got up and made his way to the end of the pew then he walked over to the coffin. He turned back to the assembly and took a deep breath. "Sherlock was a lot of things – son, brother, friend. There were a lot of things he did wrong, but what he did right, he excelled at. If you earned his loyalty, it was for life. If the chips were down, really down, you could count on him to help you." He met Molly's eyes. "When he loved, it was with his whole heart." She smiled at him softly and he turned back to the others. "He was my twin, he was my best friend, and there will never be another like him."

For the rest of his days, Sherlock would swear he heard his mother mutter, "Thank God."

He mentally rolled his eyes as he went back to his seat. Molly took his hand again and whispered, "You did well." That was all that mattered.

* * *

At the cemetery, Molly still held his hand as the priest said a few more words. People started leaving. Eventually, it was just them and the gravediggers, who kept a polite distance.

Sherlock murmured, "Are you ready, angel?"

She nodded and they walked back to the car.

At his parents' house, Sherlock noticed that despite the large number of people, none of them were particularly close to him. _My friends stayed away. Smart move._

He tolerated the small talk for as long as he could then he escaped to his and Ford's childhood bedroom, only to find his father already there, sitting on Ford's bed. The old man looked heartbroken and Sherlock couldn't help feeling touched by that.

Sherlock sat down on his bed, smiling weakly. "Couldn't take it either, huh?"

"No one was saying a thing about Ford," Siger said quietly. "I had to get away."

 _Ford?_ "Dad, I'm Ford."

Siger rolled his eyes. "I may not be a genius like the rest of you but I know which son I buried today."

 _Oh shit…_ "Dad…"

"Does Molly know, Sherlock?"


	48. 16 Saying Yes

A/N: For the May 28th prompt - "Write about a time someone said yes." Rated T. Immediately follows Laid to Rest.

* * *

Molly listened politely to her mother-in-law drone on and on for a good fifteen minutes before she excused herself and went looking for her husband. She heard voices coming from the twins' old room and stopped at the door to listen.

"Does Molly know, Sherlock?" That was Siger, her father-in-law.

 _Oh shit…_

"Yes, she knew it the moment she got a good look at me." That was Sherlock, who sounded calm.

"Is this some sort of con?"

"God, no. It was Ford's idea, Dad. He had a brain tumor, the doctors only gave him a week to live. He wanted someone to be there for Molly and the baby."

"By taking his place?"

"He thought she needed a husband more than a brother-in-law."

"And, of course, you jumped at the chance – you've been in love with Molly for years."

"How did you … never mind. Yes, I'll admit that my feelings for Molly was part of the reason why I agreed to it, but I also wanted to be there for my brother's family. My life was worthless, the switch ensured that the 'right' life ended." There was a pause. "Do Mum and Mycroft know?"

"No. They're perfectly happy thinking their favorite survived."

"How could you tell it was me?"

"I was there when you were born, Sherlock. I could always tell you two apart, even when you were babies. Your mother never could."

"We took full advantage of that." She could hear the smirk in his voice.

Siger chuckled. "Yes, I know. I'll keep your secret, Sherlock, but you have to promise me you won't go back to your old ways."

"I promise, Dad." Another pause. "You can come in now, Molly."

She opened the door and walked into the room, closing it behind her. Sherlock and Siger were sitting on one of the beds, hugging.

She smiled at them happily. "I'm glad we don't have to keep this secret from everyone."

"So am I," Sherlock said.

Siger kissed his son's forehead then got up and smiled at Molly. "Take care of him, Molly. He needs it."

"I will, Siger."

He kissed her cheek then left the room.

Molly turned to Sherlock. "How do you feel?"

"Worn out, relieved, desperate for a fix, but getting the hell away from my mother would be almost as good."

She nodded. "I think we should take our leave. I doubt we'll be missed."

He stood up. "I think you're right." Sherlock gently took her hands. "Sweetheart … is it the right time?"

"Let's talk about that when we get home."

* * *

They drove home in comfortable silence. As soon as they walked in the front door, Molly took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

"Sit down, Sherlock," she said softly. Sherlock sat down on the bed and she sat down next to him.

"Molly, before you say anything, I'm clean," he said quickly. "Ford insisted that I get tested before we switched. So, we won't need condoms until the baby comes."

She laughed softly. "Silly man." Molly reached up to brush a stray curl out of his face. "Do you think I don't want children with you?"

"I … um … we haven't talked about it."

"But that's not the same as not wanting it. When I was growing up, I wanted a bunch of kids with the man I love." She laid a hand over her stomach. "Ford and I made one." She moved the hand to take his. "I'm hoping I'll have more with the second love of my life."

Sherlock stared at her. "I … you … you mean that?"

"Yes." She smiled softly. "I love you, Sherlock."


	49. 17 Full to Bursting

A/N: For the April 11th prompt - "Write about a body part." Yeah, my mind went straight into the gutter. Rated M. Immediately follows Saying Yes.

* * *

Sherlock's heart felt like it was going to burst, it was so full of love. His trousers also felt like they were going to burst. "Molly, I love you so much… Please, is it the right time? I need you so badly. I want to show you exactly how much you mean to me."

"Oh, I don't know…" she drawled, grinning. "Maybe we should wait another year or so."

"Molly," he growled and was pleased to see her shiver. "It's not nice to tease."

She giggled. "Whoever said I was nice?"

He groaned in frustration. "You're killing me, woman."

"We can't have that now, can we?" She got up then reached behind her to unzip her black dress before slipping it off, revealing her black lace bra, panties, garter belt, and black silk stockings.

Sherlock stared at her, his cock hardening even more at the sight and he winced. "Have to get these damn trousers off…"

"Allow me," she murmured, kneeling between his legs.

His eyes were saucers now as he watched her unfasten his bespoke trousers and free his throbbing cock. She grinned up at him. "No pants?"

"Er, no."

She chuckled. "Ford always wore pants, I'm surprised he didn't tell you that. You've been within kissing distance from me since Friday and you've been going commando the entire time?"

"Er, yes?"

Molly grinned as she reached out to wrap her hand around his shaft. "I'll remember that the next time we're in public and I desperately need a shag." Her fingers and thumb didn't meet and she murmured, "Mmm, very impressive."

"You really think so?" Sherlock asked. He tried to remain calm but his brain was focused on one thing. _She wants to shag in public! She wants to shag in public! I can do that!_

She grinned up at him. "Sherlock, your cock is the one I'm going to be riding for the rest of my life, so I think I'm going to be one very satisfied woman."

In that moment, Sherlock felt like he would do anything, absolutely anything to please her. "God, Molly…"

She leaned forward to give his stomach an affectionate kiss before encircling the head of his cock with her soft, pink lips. Sherlock groaned quietly.

 _I could die of pleasure right now and we've barely started._

One of her very capable hands worked the base as she slowly took him into her mouth, her other hand on his balls. Sherlock could barely think straight. His breathing was heavy and his face was flushed and he was moaning her name and to hell with dignity, he was begging her not to stop.

 _I may have called her my queen, I'm not certain._

Thankfully, his queen was in a generous mood and seemed to have no plans to stop. When he felt her teeth lightly scrape the underside, he moaned her name and she stroked his thigh encouragingly. Sherlock groaned loudly as his seed filled her mouth then watched, breathless, as she swallowed it all. She slowly, methodically licked him clean and Sherlock felt like he'd melted into a puddle of hormones.

He collected himself just enough to lay on the bed, though "collapsed" would probably be a more accurate description, the dopiest of smiles on his face. Molly laid on her side next to him, her head propped on her hand as she gazed down at him, a proud smile on her face.

"I take it you liked that," she murmured.

Sherlock chuckled weakly. "If I had any strength left, I'd pull you down for a nice snog but as it is, I feel like you sucked out my soul through my cock and I'm slowly getting it back."

She giggled. "Such words coming from an atheist." Molly watched him for a moment and noticed his heavy lids. "Why don't we both take a nap?"

"Mmm, an excellent idea, except that it's not 'we both,'" he reached out to lightly touch her bump, "it's 'we three.'"

"Quite right," she murmured, curling to his side and laying her head on his shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around her, murmuring, "I love you."

"I love you too, Sherlock."


	50. His Favorite Escape

A/N: For the February 24th prompt - "Once, in the midst of all the recklessness..." Rated T. Set during "The Lying Detective."

I'm not done with the sequel to Full to Bursting, so I thought I'd post this in the meantime.

* * *

Molly was worried sick about Sherlock. She hadn't seen or heard from him in weeks, not since the day she had given him John's letter. The only exception was a single text where he asked her to bring an ambulance to an address she didn't recognize on a day two weeks later.

That was a week ago.

Every time she tried to go to Baker Street to check on him, that guy Billy would turn her away. Mycroft and Greg said their hands were tied. Mrs. Hudson said that every time she tried to go upstairs, Sherlock would send her back down again.

 _What the hell is he up to?_

She woke up that night to the sound of a crash coming from her kitchen. Assuming it was Toby, she marched into the kitchen only to find her biscuit tin on the floor and Sherlock sitting beside it, eating biscuits that had spilled out. His hair and skin were oily, his clothes looked like he'd slept in them repeatedly, and there was sparse stubble on his face. Toby was sitting on the counter, glaring down at him.

Unfortunately, Molly didn't have the luxury of being angry. "Sherlock?" she asked gently. "Are you hurt?"

Sherlock looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot and it took a moment for them to focus on her. "Hurt? No." He grinned. "Hello, Molly. I thought I'd take a break from the case."

 _He's definitely high._ "This is for a case?" She didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.

"Of course." He tried to stand up but lost his balance and fell on his arse. Molly helped him up then held him steady until he could find his footing. He smiled down at her and she felt the same old butterflies she used to feel whenever he did that. "You don't think I'd risk losing your good opinion of me on anything less than an eleven, do you?"

"Eleven? I thought your case scale only went up to ten."

"That was before the most important case of my life."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you'll tell me any details."

"Nope," he said, popping the P. "Would if I could, you know that."

"I do," she agreed, sighing. "How long are you staying?"

"Just the night, I need to get back to the case tomorrow, but I couldn't go another day without seeing you."

She smiled sadly. "Don't worry, I'm still your goldfish." He had told her what Mycroft had said. She thought it was kind of adorable.

"It's not that," Sherlock insisted. He smiled a bit. "I needed to check on my favorite bolthole."

"I just changed the sheets on my bed this morning, it's ready when you are."

"Oh, Molly," he said, his smile turning soft and vulnerable, "do you really think my favorite escape from a world gone mad is a place?"


	51. Intentions

A/N: For the April 12th prompt - "Dubious intentions." Not related to His Favorite Escape. (I tried to connect them, couldn't get it to work.) Rated T. My take on the ambulance scene in TLD.

* * *

Sherlock watched from the gurney as Molly closed and secured the ambulance doors. He knew a lecture was coming.

"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" she muttered.

"Pardon?"

"'Just tell me when to cough.' You're obviously high, hitting on me was unnecessary."

"But fun," he said, waggling his eyebrows. _It was, actually. I should try it again when I'm sober._

Molly rolled her eyes. "I don't see you for weeks only to get summoned here and find you've completely spiraled. Sherlock Holmes, you need a keeper."

 _Not a bad idea,_ he thought, smirking. While she ran the drug test, which of course came back positive, he wondered whether "Dr. Molly Hooper-Holmes" was too much of a mouthful. _Maybe I can get her to just take my name._

She looked at him dubiously. "You're sure this is for a case and not just you wanting to self-medicate?"

"I'm sure." _I need you to believe me, Molly. I'm not destroying myself just because of Mary._

She swallowed hard. "You're going to die, and soon, if you keep going like this. How you're even still conscious, let alone walking, is beyond me."

"What must I do to make you trust me, Molly?"

"Stop. Stop all of this – the drugs, the secrets, the lies."

"When have I lied to you?" She was about to speak but he held up a hand. "I mean since this," he waved the hand to indicate his scruffy self, "started."

"How about a few minutes ago, in the doorway? You asked me to fondle your balls."

Sherlock smirked. "And what about that was a lie?"

She stared at him. "You're saying you were serious?"

"As a heart attack." _She's actually blanching. Clearly, she thinks I'm headed in that direction._ "Er, poor choice of words. I mean, yes, of course, I'm serious."

"Sherlock…"

"Come now, Molly," he said, grinning. "You've known me for years and you can't tell when I'm genuinely flirting with you?"

"Considering that it's never happened before, no."

"Really must remedy that," he murmured then he pulled her into his lap.

Her squeak of protest was silenced by his mouth on hers. She tried to push him away at first but then she gave into it, her arms wrapping around his neck.

 _I'm normally not one to be poetic, but she really does taste of sweetness and light. I've got no business even breathing the same air as her, let alone doing the things I'm contemplating, but I can't help it, she's the one thing I have left to believe in._

Sherlock felt wetness on his cheeks and he pulled back, studying her face intently. She was indeed crying, her eyes full of hopelessness.

"None of that, Molly Hooper," he murmured, lightly pressing his forehead to hers. "This will all be over soon. For the better, I might add."

"When it is, Sherlock," she murmured, smiling a bit through her tears, "come back to my place and I just might take you up on your offer."

Sherlock chuckled. "It's a date."


	52. Oscillating

A/N: For the January 20th prompt - "Look out your window; write what you see." Rated T. Another stand-alone.

* * *

 _What a dreary day,_ Sherlock thought. _Perfect for a good murder._ The rain was coming down in sheets and the wind was cold enough that all sensible Londoners were indoors. He spotted a familiar figure with an umbrella on the sidewalk headed for his building. _Well, not all of them._

She stopped in front of his building and started to oscillate on the sidewalk, walking towards the front steps then changing her mind, turning around, and starting to walk away, before doing it all again.

 _Oscillating on the sidewalk means love affair,_ Sherlock thought, and scowled at the jealousy that started to rise in the back of his throat like bile.

Finally, Molly squared her shoulders and, mind apparently made up, started to walk away.

 _For God's sake…_ Despite the rain, Sherlock opened the window and stuck his head out. "Get in here, Margaret Anne Hooper," he said, loud and irritable.

She stopped and looked up at him, scowling. "Really shouldn't have told you my full name," she called back but did as she was told.

Sherlock put the kettle on while he waited for her and wondered if Mrs. Hudson had any biscuits. Before he had a chance to yell down to his not-housekeeper, he heard Molly come into the sitting room.

"Sherlock?" she called out.

"Kitchen," he replied.

She came into the room in stocking feet, soaked jeans, and her favorite cherry-print cardigan over a white button-down. Her hair was frizzy from the humidity and her cheeks were red from the biting wind and Sherlock couldn't help thinking she looked beautiful.

He didn't say that, of course. "Better take those jeans off before you catch a cold."

Molly rolled her eyes. "You can't get a cold just from being cold." Still, she went into the bathroom, coming out in his blue silk dressing gown over her shirt, her cardigan in one hand and her jeans in the other.

Sherlock took the jeans and hung them up in front of the roaring fire in the fireplace. Molly hung her cardigan on the back of one of the chairs at the table then she sat down in John's chair.

"John, Mary, and Rosie are still at his sister's?" she asked.

Sherlock nodded. "They'll be back next week." He sat down in his chair and assessed her. "You need some advice about your love life."

Molly nodded, blushing. "I can never hide anything from you." The kettle whistled and she got up before he did. "I'll make it." She hurried into the kitchen.

 _Why would she come to me about her love life? Mary or Mrs. Hudson would be a much better choice. I know nothing about relationships. If she wants a man's perspective, she should ask John "Three Continents" Watson._

 _Then again, maybe not._

Molly came out with two cups and gave him one. "Just the way you like it," she said.

"Thank you," he said, smiling a bit, then he took a sip as Molly sat down again. "So…"

"I need a second opinion on what to do," she said, her eyes on her cup. "There's this man I like. Well, more than like."

Sherlock felt his heart sink to his feet and spill onto the rug. "Your engagement ended over a year ago. According to conventional society, there is nothing wrong with you dating again now."

"It's not that. I've liked this man for years but he only sees me as a friend."

 _It's Graham. She wants to know if she should ask Graham out._ He could feel the bile rising again.

 _Heartburn._

"How … how do you know he only sees you as a friend?" he asked hesitantly.

"Because of what he's said over the years."

 _When did Graham ever say anything like that? I always miss something._ "Graham's a fool," he declared firmly.

Molly finally looked up at him, confused. "What?"

"He's a fool. You're a beautiful, intelligent, passionate woman and if he can't see that, he doesn't deserve you anyway."

She shook her head a bit. "Why would you think I was talking about Greg?"

Sherlock stared at her. "You're not?"

"Of course not. Greg's just a friend."

"Then who…" He trailed off as he considered the possibilities. _Can't be John, she'd never go after a married man. Oh God, is it Mycroft? Or worse, Anderson?_ "Please, God, tell me it's not Anderson."

She groaned in frustration and stood up. "I'm leaving – it's pointless to try to talk to you about anything involving emotions."

He stood up quickly. "Molly, wait…" He reached out to take her hand. "Just tell me who it is and I'll help you."

"Why should it matter who it is?"

 _Because I want to know who to hate._ "It just … does."

She shot him a look then held out her other hand. "My jeans, if you please."

Instead of handing them over, Sherlock took that hand as well. "Molly, please..."

She refused to look at him. "God," she muttered, "this is just like that Christmas."

 _That Christmas? She must mean the infamous party. Wait, that's when I was jealous of no one but myself. If this is just like that…_

He suddenly pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard. Molly froze for a moment then kissed him back, her arms around his neck. She only broke the kiss to squeal in surprise when he picked her up bridal-style and carried her to the bedroom.

 _Case solved._


	53. Change of Heart

A/N: For the April 13th prompt - "A time you changed your mind." Post-TFP. Rated T. Another stand-alone.

* * *

After dropping John off at his house, Sherlock at first directed the cabbie to go to Baker Street out of habit, then he remembered his sister had blown it up, so he gave the cabbie Molly's address.

Letting himself in with the key she had given him a lifetime ago, he slipped off his Belstaff and muddy shoes by the door then carefully walked down the hallway of the darkened flat. No sign of Molly. The last place he checked was her bedroom. The door was closed but not locked so he slowly opened it.

There was a Molly-sized lump on the bed, completely covered by the duvet. Toby sat by her head, growling at him as he came nearer. Sherlock put a finger to his lips then made a shooing motion with his hand. The cat, used to him by now, gave up his male posturing then hopped down from the bed, tail held high as he left the room. Sherlock closed the door behind him then stripped down to his pants, hindered somewhat by the bandages on his hands.

"I don't care how much you need a bolthole, Sherlock – I'm not giving up my bed tonight, not to you," came Molly's muffled voice from beneath the duvet. "You can sleep in the guestroom. Or the Thames, I don't particularly care." She sounded like she was tired of feeling any kind of emotion at all.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "We've always shared your bed before," he said quietly. "Why can't we share tonight?"

She sat up and glared at him. "Because the last thing I want right now is to have you laying beside me – so close yet always out of reach. New rule, Sherlock – if I'm in the bed, you're not."

He swallowed hard. "Will you at least let me explain?"

"Mycroft already did."

"What?" Sherlock didn't know what to expect, but that certainly wasn't it.

"He called. He explained everything – the live video feed, the threat, the countdown. He apologized profusely for what Eurus put me through. Mycroft thinks you meant what you said, but we're talking about the Iceman – he doesn't have a lot of experience with emotions, though I could tell he's feeling a lot of them tonight."

 _He's not the only one._ "And you're not?" he asked carefully.

"I felt plenty of emotions when you called but now I'm numb. I don't know if that's better or worse than crying my eyes out like I was earlier."

 _Worse, definitely worse._ "Molly … I don't know where to begin."

"You don't have to begin anywhere. You don't even have to say anything – leaving requires no words whatsoever."

"Molly…"

"No, Sherlock," she said firmly. "I'm the one who was hurt today, I'm the one who deserves to have time to themselves."

"That phone call hurt me just as much as it hurt you."

"Somehow, I doubt that." She laid down again, her back to him.

He climbed into bed next to her. She stiffened but didn't protest. He considered that progress.

"Molly," he said softly, "doing that to you broke my heart. I knew I had to do it to save your life but believe me, exposing your feelings like that is the last thing I wanted to do. If Eurus had picked any other words for you to say, it would have been easy but she wanted it to be hard for both of us."

She didn't say anything for several moments then just as Sherlock contemplated leaving, she said quietly, "It should have been easy for you, you hate sentiment."

"I do, or at least, I did. But saying those words after you told me to … the first time was a revelation. It made everything click. I realized that I feel something for you and that that feeling has a name."

She slowly turned to face him. "And the second time?"

He gazed at her, saying softly, "The second time was exactly what I feel for you, Molly Hooper."

Tears welled in her eyes and she said in a voice choked with emotion, "But you hate sentiment, you hate love…"

"Not anymore," he murmured. "I love you, Molly. If that makes me a sentimental fool, then I wouldn't want it any other way."

She pulled him into her arms and kissed him deeply. Sherlock kissed her back and he knew that in her arms was where he wanted to be for the rest of his life.


	54. Light the Way

A/N: For the December 30th prompt - "A random light." Rated K. Victorian post-TAB. Takes place a week after the scene in the abandoned church. Stand-alone.

* * *

Sherlock tripped over yet another rock and cursed yet again the incredibly thick fog that had settled on London that night. He could barely see his hand in front of his face, yet alone the dangers and inconveniences in front of him. Trying to navigate from the crime scene back to Baker Street was impossible. Of course, there were no hansoms around.

 _Everyone with an ounce of sense is at home in bed,_ Sherlock thought. He was convinced he was lost. _Haven't seen a familiar building in ages. I'd better stop somewhere and wait out the fog before I end up in the Thames._

He started looking for a building that resembled a house or an inn. None of the buildings he passed looked like residences and all of them looked completely shuttered.

Suddenly, a single dot of light pierced the fog. With a sense of hope he would normally think was beneath him, Sherlock followed the light. Its source turned out to be a candle in the window of a first-floor apartment.

 _Hopefully, they are as open to weary travelers as the candle would suggest._ He climbed the front steps then knocked on the door. The door was opened by the last person he expected to see. His eyes widened a fraction. "Hooper?"

"Holmes?" she asked, her eyes wide.

* * *

Sherlock sat on the floor next to the woman he hadn't seen in a week. _Not that I ever really saw her._

She had insisted that he sit by the fire to warm himself. He insisted that she join him.

The fire and the tea were helping. Sherlock refused to admit that her warm brown eyes were helping even more.

Hooper chuckled, those delightful eyes dancing with mirth. "I can't believe you managed to lose your way two blocks from Baker Street, Holmes."

"That's all it is?" he asked, suddenly energized. "I'll leave as soon as my tea is finished."

"Don't you dare – you can still get lost in that mess. You'll stay here until it lifts."

"Hooper…" He trailed off, blinking. "I didn't get a chance to ask the last time we spoke – what is your Christian name?"

"We're not on a first name basis, Holmes."

"We should be."

"What in Heaven's name would make you think that?"

"You are, frankly, the most competent person working at St. Bartholomew's. Your work is invaluable to mine. You keep me on my toes."

"That's hardly a reason for us to be on a first-"

"You are also the most intelligent, passionate, and beautiful woman I have ever met and I would very much like to know you better."

She smiled a bit. "Much better. My parents named me Margaret Anne Hooper but I prefer to go by Molly."

"Molly," he murmured, tasting the word on his tongue. It tasted sweet. "My Molly."

"Yours?" she asked, surprised.

Sherlock grinned. "Yes, of course. The light brought me here, just as every candle in every window has guided people home."

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. "That is terribly sentimental for a man who has famously sworn off sentiment."

"I have seen the error of my ways. Now…" He scooped the petite woman up and placed her in his lap. "What shall be my reward?"

"Oh, I can think of a few things," she murmured, before pulling his head down for a kiss.


	55. Pick Me

A/N: For the January 2nd prompt - "A time someone said no." Stand-alone. Rated T. I just had to work in a reference to one of Benedict's short films and, IMHO, the best pick-up line.

* * *

"Will you marry me, Molly?" Tom asked, down on one knee and holding up a diamond ring. The stone was small, all he could afford as an accountant.

She was about to say yes when Sherlock pushed Tom out of the way and got down on one knee himself, holding up another ring, this one much larger, confirming her theory that Sherlock had more money than he let on and was sharing his flat for kicks. "Forget him, Molly. You could do so much better. Me, for instance."

Molly was about to respond when she woke up. _Bloody hell…_ She sat up, groaning. Sherlock was still God-knows-where, playing dead. She hadn't heard from him in months. _The only reason I know he's still alive is that Mycroft hasn't said otherwise._

She was about to roll over and go back to sleep when she heard a noise coming from the bathroom. _What the hell?_ She quickly got up and pulled on her bathrobe then cautiously approached the door.

"Bloody fucking hell…" she heard Sherlock mutter.

Rolling her eyes, Molly opened the door. Sherlock was standing in front of the sink, trying to clean his various wounds. There was blood dripping down his face from multiple cuts, his left eye was swollen shut and she could tell he was going to have the mother of all black eyes, and the front of his white tank was dyed red with blood. She hoped it wasn't all his but she had a sinking feeling it was. A small part of her couldn't help noticing his perfect arse in the tight jeans.

She dragged her eyes to his. "Please tell me the other guy looks much worse."

"I would but you hate it when I lie to you," Sherlock drawled.

Molly rolled her eyes again then took the flannel from him and got out her bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She cleaned his wounds properly, decided none of them needed stitches, then proceeded to ask how he managed to get in that state. Sherlock, of course, refused to tell her anything. He left the bathroom and she followed him.

Sherlock glanced at the bed. "I'm surprised the boyfriend's not here."

"He went to a convention in Las Vegas."

"And you trust him in Nevada, land of chorus girls and legal prostitution?"

"Yes, of course." She wondered if she said that a little too fast.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Honestly, Molly, I don't know what you see in him. You could do so much better."

She shivered at the echo of his words from her dream. "Actually, no, I couldn't. Until Tom, I've had no luck whatsoever in the dating pool. First there was the arrogant prat I had a complete crush on who only saw me as someone who could keep him in body parts, then there was the criminal mastermind who pretended to like me just so he could get close to said prat. Then the prat faked his death and disappeared to parts unknown. There's no one who can compare to him, but Tom loves me and I am making a good life with him."

"You didn't say that you love Tom," Sherlock pointed out, smirking.

"And this is why you're an arrogant prat," she muttered. "What I feel for Tom isn't up for scrutiny."

"If you love him, just say it," he said, grinning wide.

"Go away, Sherlock. I patched you up, you can go back to whatever bolthole you were using."

"What if I want to stay in this one?"

"You can't. I have a boyfriend now, it's inappropriate for me to have another man around when he's not here."

"Am I a man? I thought I was a prat."

She groaned in exasperation. "You're both and I really want you gone."

"I'll leave on one condition."

"Anything."

He gave her a wolfish grin. "Anything?"

"You know what I mean," she muttered.

"I want you to promise me you won't marry anyone you don't love."

 _This coming from the man who hates sentiment?_ "Love isn't the only reason why people marry, Sherlock."

"It should be. Promise me, Molly."

"Alright, fine, I promise – I won't marry anyone I don't love."

Sherlock grinned. "That's all I needed to hear." With that, he climbed out her bedroom window and was gone.

* * *

A week later, Molly and Tom were in bed. They had just had sex and a small but vocal part of Molly knew she'd had better. _Okay, so he's not great in the sack. That can be fixed._

Tom wrapped an arm around her waist and nuzzled her hair. "Love you."

The small but vocal part was getting bigger and louder. _Don't you dare say you love him. You know you don't._

"Molly?"

"Hmm?" She turned to face him.

"I should probably do this on one knee but this seems like a good enough time." He opened the drawer in the nightstand and pulled out a ring box. He opened it and Molly could see the ring was just like she had imagined. He smiled at her. "Molly, will you marry me?"

* * *

"I looked into his eyes, Mary, and I knew I couldn't do it," Molly muttered as she stared down at her beer. "Even without the promise I made to Sherlock, I just couldn't say yes."

Mary smirked around her cosmo. "I was wondering when the world's only consulting detective was going to figure into this narrative." The former assassin glanced at the man sitting by himself at a nearby table, his face buried in a newspaper.

Molly didn't notice. "I'm destined to be alone."

Mary smirked. "Hardly."

Her focus still on her beer, Molly didn't notice when the man at the table set down his newspaper and came over to her until he spoke.

"Excuse me, Miss. I'm Mr. Right, I heard you've been looking for me."

Mary groaned. "Sherlock, that has to be the worst pick-up line in history."

Sherlock kept his eyes on Molly's beaming face. "Not if it works."


	56. Cozy

A/N: For the February 19th prompt - "Write about a quilt or a blanket." Stand-alone. Rated K.

* * *

Molly loved to knit, though she hadn't been doing it long. It was something she had learned while Sherlock was "dead," something to fill the endless hours while she waited for him to come back to them. To her.

She had tried knitting jumpers but they never came out right, so she stuck to afghans. Molly preferred bright colors and fun patterns, like her favorite jumpers. Once she was confident in her skill, she started giving the afghans as gifts. Everyone loved the blankets, but there was one person she still hadn't given an afghan to – Sherlock. Molly was convinced he wouldn't want one, that he'd call it silly and impractical.

Ever since his return from the "dead," the two of them had weekly take-away and movie nights at Baker Street. One night in early fall, it became chilly in the sitting room. Molly shivered a bit on the sofa. Sherlock, who was sitting next to her, promptly took off his dressing gown and covered her with it. The warmth from his body filled her and she silently vowed to make him an afghan.

It took her a month to finish then she took it with her in a shopping bag on their next movie night. She walked into the sitting room only to find it empty. Setting the bag and her purse on the coffee table, having already shed her coat in the hallway, she wandered into the kitchen. Sherlock was there, microwaving something she suspected wasn't popcorn.

"Hi. I thought you weren't on a case," she said, smiling, as she leaned against the counter.

He smiled at her. "Hi. I'm not but there's always an experiment to do." He leaned to kiss her cheek and Molly had to force herself not to grab him and snog him properly. "How was your day?"

"Long, I'm so glad I made it to the best part of the week. Yours?"

He smiled a bit. "Dull until now."

She smiled back. "What are we watching?"

" _You've Got Mail_."

"Aww, I love that movie."

Sherlock looked disappointed. "I thought I had finally found a rom-com you hadn't seen yet." When it was his turn to pick, he liked to find movies neither of them had seen. They had found a few mutual favorites that way.

She grinned at him. "Nope, I've probably seen every '90s rom-com at least twice. But _You've Got Mail_ is perfect, it's been a while since I've seen it."

He smiled back, satisfied. "Alright. I'll get dinner. Chinese?"

"Yep." She followed him out of the kitchen.

Sherlock didn't even glance at the shopping bag before he left. As soon as he was gone, Molly took the dark grey afghan out of the bag and spread it across the back of the sofa. _I wonder how long it'll take for him to notice._

Not long, as it turned out – he saw it as soon as he walked into the sitting room with the bag of take-away. "That's new."

 _Not nice, not perfect, just new_. Molly sighed quietly. "I thought you could use a nice throw in here. I … um … I made it myself."

He set the bag on the coffee table then sat down on the sofa next to her. Sherlock took a closer look at the afghan then he looked at her, smiling. "It's nice."

She smiled back, relieved. "Thank you."

Sherlock didn't say much after that while they ate and watched the movie. At some point, Molly found herself resting her head on his shoulder and his arm around her.

 _I'm certainly not complaining,_ she thought.

Sherlock reached back and grabbed the afghan, pulling it over their laps. It was a little too small for two people. After a moment, he murmured in her ear, "Next time, make one of those colorful ones you make for everyone else, and make it big enough for two."

"It'll clash with everything in here," she murmured, smiling a bit.

"Who says it's for this room? I've noticed my bedroom is a bit chilly. If I'm to have the love of my life there, I want her to be cozy."

She was about to speak but he silenced her with a kiss.


	57. Honey, You're Home

A/N: For the April 9th prompt - "You're asleep. You're not at home." Stand-alone. Rated T.

* * *

Molly woke up slowly, first opening one eye then the other, then lifting her head when she didn't recognize the sheets she was laying on. They were a solid pale blue and had a very high thread count, nothing like the run-of-the-mill yellow floral sheets that were currently on her bed. Sitting up, she looked around and didn't recognize a single thing in the room.

 _No, wait, is that Sherlock's aubergine shirt hanging from the closet door? Then … is this Sherlock's bedroom? Good God, how much did I drink last night?_ Looking down at herself, she was relieved to see that she was still wearing her royal blue button-down blouse from the day before. Pushing back the sheet, she was then dismayed to see that she was wearing her pink flower-print knickers but not the charcoal pencil skirt she had worn. _Since I still have my knickers on, it's unlikely that Sherlock and I shagged, but where is my skirt? And for that matter, where is he?_ She got out of bed, belatedly realizing she didn't have any hangover symptoms. _Okay, so if I'm not hungover, what the hell happened last night?_

The sound of someone clearing their throat dragged her attention to the doorway, where Sherlock stood, fully dressed and holding a tray. He stared at her bare legs and his gaze was decidedly hungry, then he met her eyes, grinning. "Good morning, Molly. Breakfast?"

She was too confused to be embarrassed by her half-dressed state or wonder about how he stared at her legs, but she still slipped on his blue silk dressing down before addressing him. "What the hell is going on, Sherlock? Why am I not hungover? I don't remember how I got here, so I must have had too much to drink, but I don't feel like I did."

The infuriating man had the gall to chuckle. "You're not hungover because you weren't drunk, merely exhausted. What's the last thing you remember doing?"

Molly thought a moment. "You asked for help with a case. We spent forever in the rare books room of the London Library looking for some obscure 17th Century journal by some man whose name I forget. I remember being so tired that I couldn't keep my eyes open… Oh."

Sherlock smiled a bit. "Yes, 'oh.' You were dead on your feet. No wonder, considering you had put in a full shift yesterday and a double the day before. I decided to take you home."

"Your home," Molly pointed out, "not mine."

"Not yet, anyway," he said with a perfectly straight face, though his eyes were dancing.


	58. 01 I Need A Husband

A/N: For the February 28th prompt - "What if..." Rated M. Swap!lock. There will be a sequel.

* * *

"I need a husband."

Dr. Sherlock Holmes, forensic pathologist, looked up from the microscope, scowling in confusion at the petite consulting detective next to him. "I-I'm sorry?"

Molly Hooper grinned at him. "You heard me, Sherlock. Donovan needs help catching a serial mugger who preys on married couples."

"Can't you ask John?" he asked, distinctly uncomfortable. To give himself a reason not to meet her eyes, he took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief before putting them back on. The idea of pretending to be married to the woman he'd been in love with since they'd met hit a little too close to home. _Please, God, let her just want a pretend marriage. I wouldn't put it past her to insist we actually get married, just to make it more "realistic."_

She smirked. "I would, but I consider it self-preservation to stay on Mary's good side. C'mon, Sherlock, it'll only be for a day or two."

 _And a night,_ his libido unhelpfully supplied. "What about Greg?"

"Lestrade hates me, you know that. If I wanted to have us be a couple on the brink of divorce, he'd be perfect, but the mugger likes couples with a thing for PDA."

Sherlock felt his face getting warm. "And you think we could do that?"

The grin she shot him was absolutely sinful. "Well, you are the hottest doctor at Bart's."

His cheeks were flaming now and he determinedly turned back to his microscope. "Go away, Molly," he muttered.

"I'll pick you up at eight. Have an overnight bag ready." Then with a swirl of her long coat, she was gone.

 _God give me strength._

* * *

"I don't see what you're so worked up about," John said on the phone later. "Well, I do see why you're worked up," he added, snickering, "but I don't see why you're complaining."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he tilted his head to his shoulder, keeping the mobile to his ear as he packed. "God, every time she comes to Bart's, I have to run to the men's locker room as soon as she's gone and wank off. What am I supposed to do when I have to spend an entire day and night with her, wank in the shower?"

"You could always tell her how you feel," his best friend and former flatmate suggested. The grin in his voice was evident.

"Then she'll **know** exactly how sad and pathetic I am, instead of just suspecting. No, thank you."

"Mate, she's known since that Christmas. Signing the card 'Love, Sherlock' wasn't exactly subtle."

"Yes, well, I'm hoping she's forgotten that little incident."

"I'm sure it's permanently etched in her brain, just like it is for everyone else who was there."

"Shut up, John," he muttered, cutting off John's laughter when he hung up.

Sherlock finished packing then carried the bag to the front door and set it down. His Siamese cat Irene came over, meowing at him. He bent to pick her up and carried her to the kitchen. "If I do decide to say something, I hope you'll be alright with not being the only female living here." Irene rubbed her face against his shirt. He smiled a bit. "Good, though you know this means I'll have to change my shirt."

He set the cat down and filled her bowl then walked back to his bedroom. Sherlock had just taken off his cat hair-covered shirt when he heard a familiar voice in the doorway.

"Mmm, don't get dressed on my account," Molly said, grinning, as she took in the sight of him shirtless.

Sherlock felt his face flame yet again and he turned to his open closet. "You're early. Please tell me you didn't pick the lock again."

"Nope," she said, grinning and popping the P in a way he found unbearably adorable. "I actually used my key this time."

"Good." He pulled out the aubergine dress shirt he'd bought years ago but never had a reason to wear. As soon as he pulled it on, Molly's eyes lit up.

"Ooo, that looks amazing on you," she murmured. She grabbed the two halves before he could start to button it up, running the material through her fingers. "It goes so well with your coloring. Hmm." She suddenly jerked the shirt off him just enough for his arms to be stuck in the half-off sleeves, effectively pinning them to his sides.

"Molly!" Sherlock exclaimed, a little nervous and a lot turned on.

"Oh, Sherlock," she purred, "let's stop beating around the bush." She pushed him until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he sat down, staring up at her.

"What … what are you going to do?" he murmured, awed.

"With you like this," she murmured as she hitched up her knee-length skirt then straddled his lap, "anything I want." She ground her damp center against his growing erection

Sherlock could only think one thing. _She's not wearing panties…_ "Please, Molly," he whispered desperately, "kiss me…"

She kissed him deeply. Her lips were soft and perfect and Sherlock couldn't get enough. He kissed her back, damning his shirt for keeping him from wrapping his arms around her. He also damned his trousers for being entirely too tight.

"Molly… God, I need you…"

"Like this?" she murmured teasingly. "You're sure you wouldn't rather have me in a rose petal-strewn bed after wining and dining me for hours?"

"Shut up and let me fuck you." His eyes widened. "That is … I mean… God, I'm sorry…"

Molly chuckled. "Don't worry, Sherlock – it'll take a lot more than that to offend me." She made quick work of his bespoke trousers, pushing them and his pants down enough to free his cock. "Ooo, I knew you'd be well-endowed…" Without another word, she guided him to her entrance and impaled herself on him, both of them groaning in pleasure.

She felt better than any fantasy he'd ever had, and he'd had quite a few.


	59. 02 You Need A Wife

A/N: For the February 1st prompt - "Write about a kiss." Rated M. Swap!lock, immediately follows I Need A Husband.

* * *

Molly groaned as Sherlock's length filled her. _God, he's huge…_ She clutched his shoulders as her body adjusted to his size. _I'm supposed to be so observant, how in the hell did I miss the fact that he's hung?_

"Am I hurting you?" he asked softly, his brow furrowed with worry.

She gave him a fond smile. "You're just the sweetest thing, aren't you?" Molly softly kissed his forehead. "No, Sherlock, I'm more than wet enough to take you."

"I … um … I can feel that," he murmured, blushing.

She raised an eyebrow. "Is this your first time, hon?"

His eyes widened. "God, no… Wh-why would you think that?"

Molly raised a hand to stroke his cheek, smiling a bit. "You blush like a virgin."

"One of the hazards of fair skin," he muttered, looking away.

"No, I think it's your sweet nature." She moved her hand to his chin and lifted it so their eyes met. Molly softened her tone. "This means more to you than just a quick fuck, doesn't it?"

He nodded, looking absolutely miserable. "You must know I'm in love with you, Molly. God, it's not like I've been hiding it all these years." He shut his eyes. "Go on, call me a fool. I've certainly called myself that often since we met."

She kissed him softly on the lips then murmured, "I'm the fool for missing what's right in front of me." When he opened his eyes to stare at her, she grinned. "Never again." She started to ride him, going slow and deep, reveling in the pleasure showing on his face.

Sherlock tried to move his arms then groaned in frustration. "God… I just want to hold you."

"I'd free you," she murmured, grinning, "but I'd have to get up and there's no way I'm getting off your monster cock anytime soon." She whispered in his ear, "You can hold me all you want when we're done."

Sherlock shivered and Molly kissed and licked a slow, wet path down his delectable neck. She knew both of them were so close. "You've got a body made for sex, you know that? I just want to touch…" she ran a finger from his jawline to the hollow of his throat, "kiss…" she kissed it, "and lick..." she slowly licked the hollow of his throat, "every **inch** of you."

He swallowed hard. "Every inch?" he whispered.

She grinned. "Mmm hmm." She leaned forward a bit, the angle of his cock hitting her in just the right place to set off her climax and she groaned loudly.

Sherlock groaned as her vaginal walls squeezed his cock. "Oh God…"

Molly nipped where his neck met his shoulder and he came with a shout, his seed filling her. She chuckled breathlessly. "It's a good thing I'm on the pill."

"I'm clean," he murmured as he tried to slow his breathing.

"I know, I saw your medical records."

"I … won't ask how, but why would you do that?"

She lifted her head to grin at him. "Because I'm clean too and I wanted to ride you bareback if given half a chance."

He stared at her, his blush returning. "Molly!"

Molly giggled. "I am never going to get tired of making you blush, Sherlock, so I hope you never stop."

"Around you? Unlikely," he muttered, annoyed.

"Aww… Well, since you've been such a good boy…" She slid off him then stood up. "Mmm, I just know I'm going to be walking funny tomorrow and I'm going to love every minute of it." Molly helped him stand up then she freed him from the shirt. "You know, I think we're going to-"

She was cut off by Sherlock taking her in his arms and kissing her hard. It was the best kiss she had been given in a very long time, possibly ever, and she melted before kissing him back.

"I love you," he murmured when he pulled back. "Say you love me, Molly. Please? Just once, even if it isn't true."

"I'm not going to say it if it's not true," she murmured. "I couldn't do that to you."

"Then…?" Sherlock prompted, a hopeful look on his face.

Molly grinned up at him. "Sherlock, I love your big, massive, huge…" His face fell then she whispered, "heart." She watched his face light up then she murmured, "I love you, Sherlock."

He kissed her again and it was even better than the last. Molly suspected that every kiss was going to be better, the same with every time they made love. _Speaking of which…_ "What's your recovery time?" she asked, grinning.

Sherlock groaned quietly. "You know I'm thirty-seven, not eighteen, right? Besides, don't you have a case?"

Molly giggled. "Fine. Are you done packing?"

"Yeah. Oh, I forgot my glasses case."

She rolled her eyes fondly. "Can't you just put them on the nightstand like everyone else?" She didn't see the case on the nightstand so she opened the drawer. A black velvet ring box caught her eye. _What the hell?_ "Sherlock?" she asked as she picked up the box. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him look over at her.

"Oh shit…" he muttered. He tried to grab the box but she held it behind her back.

"You're not getting this until you tell me who it's for," she said, even though she had a pretty good idea.

He sighed in defeat. "I bought that for you a couple of years ago in the hope that one day, we'd be together. Overly romantic and entirely impractical, I know. Believe me, I've heard it all from Mycroft."

With hands she suddenly realized were shaking, Molly opened the box. The ring was a dainty cluster of champagne diamonds on a rose gold band. _It's perfect…_

"I knew you wouldn't want something traditional," he said quickly.

She beamed at him. "I love it. You know, Sherlock, I've realized something."

"What's that?" he asked warily.

"You need a wife."


	60. 03 You Win

A/N: For the January 11th prompt - "You are in a motel room." Swap!lock, immediately follows You Need A Wife. Rated T. I decided I needed one last part to actually cover Molly's case.

* * *

 _She means herself, right?_ "Please tell me that means you're volunteering for the position," Sherlock said, trying to sound nonchalant but he couldn't keep the hope out of his voice.

Molly smirked as she put the ring on. "I'm interested in **all** positions with you, Sherlock, but yes, I am volunteering."

 _Cheeky._ He picked her up and spun her around, positive he was grinning like an idiot and absolutely not caring. Molly laughed then kissed him passionately when he set her down again.

Sherlock kissed her back for a moment then pulled back, smiling apologetically. "We'd better get moving if we're going to make it to the hotel tonight."

"Mmm, just think – you, me, and a dodgy hotel room. Hopefully, our lovemaking will be loud enough to scare the roaches away."

 _Now I'm blushing again, dammit._ "Molly…"

She gave him her most innocent smile, which hadn't been convincing since the case Mary had dubbed _The Blind Banker_. "Yes?"

"I'm not making love to you in a place that charges by the hour."

"You say that now, but wait 'til you see what I've packed." She winked at him and Sherlock felt his face flame again.

* * *

 _Well, it could be worse,_ Sherlock thought as he looked around the tiny hotel room. _At least it's visibly clean. I wouldn't bring a black light in here, though, for love or money – ignorance is bliss._

Just as that thought crossed his mind, his fiancée pulled a black light out of her overnight bag, turned off the lights, and waved the light over various surfaces. The bed lit up like a Christmas tree. "Damn … somebody had an orgy in here."

Sherlock groaned quietly. "Molly, must you?"

She grinned at him apologetically. "Sorry, professional curiosity." She turned the black light off then turned the lights back on. "So, shall we go hunt down a mugger?"

"Sure."

"Oh, one last thing." She pulled two gold wedding bands out of her purse, handing the larger one to him. "Pawn shop. They're just on loan, the owner owed me a favor."

"Right," Sherlock said as he slipped the ring on. "Did you help him 'put up some shelves' too?"

She smirked. "A lady never tells."

* * *

They were walking arm-in-arm down the least-busy street in the mugger's territory. Sherlock was glad Molly was keeping an eye on their surroundings – all he could focus on was her. _Those four-inch "fuck me" heels only bring her up to my chin but damn, they do nice things to her legs. And that skirt is barely long enough to cover her … everything. Not to mention her breasts are about to spill out of that top…_

 _Not that I'm complaining._

 _Bad Sherlock._

 _Ooo, I wonder if she's into roleplay._

He was so lost in thoughts of Molly as a strict teacher and him as her naughty student that he didn't hear the mugger approach until the man spoke.

"You know the drill – gimme all your cash or the girl gets it."

Both of them turned to see a large man with a gun pointed at Molly's stomach. _He matches the description,_ Sherlock thought numbly. It was almost like he was seeing the scene happen to someone else. He realized he felt no fear for himself but a ton of fear for Molly.

Molly just rolled her eyes. "Seriously?"

She then performed some martial arts move Sherlock had never seen before to disarm the man, the gun skittering away across the pavement. Sherlock retrieved it quickly, pointing it at the ground as he watched his petite fiancée proceed to knee the much larger man in the balls. Sherlock winced in sympathy as the man fell to his knees, keening in pain. Molly pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her purse and cuffed the man then called Donovan.

When Donovan showed up along with Lestrade, she was hard-pressed to hide her grin. "I knew you could do it."

Lestrade rolled his eyes then he finally noticed Sherlock. "If I were you, Holmes, I'd stay away from this one. She's nothing but trouble."

"Oh, I know," Sherlock said, grinning, "that's why I'm marrying her."

Donovan squealed in delight then insisted on getting a look at the ring. "Ooo, it's just the right size for your hand. Smart man."

Molly beamed. "What can I say, he's a keeper."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Don't say I didn't warn you, Holmes."

Sherlock chuckled. "I know what I'm getting into, Greg."

"Yeah, me," Molly said, grinning, as she took his hand. "Over and over and over."

His cheeks flamed, Lestrade just threw up his hands and walked away.

Donovan grinned at her. "Good on you, Hooper." She waved goodbye and followed her boss.

Molly grinned up at him. "Want to go back to the hotel?"

"Only long enough to get our things, then we're going back to my place."

"Nope, Baker Street. The bed's bigger."

Sherlock chuckled. "My place is closer."

"The bed's bigger," she repeated, smirking. She then crooked her finger and when he lowered his head, she whispered exactly what she wanted to do in that bigger bed.

He blushed bright red but his grin was almost as big as hers. "You win."


	61. 18 Perform

A/N: For the June 13th prompt - "These were the doubts I had." Rated T. This follows Full to Bursting.

* * *

Molly woke to an empty bed. After what they'd shared, she couldn't help feeling hurt by that. _Where'd he go? Why would he just leave like that?_ Sighing heavily, she got out of bed. _Well, if the sex is over, then I'm taking off my fancy underwear._ She put one foot on the bed and had just unclipped the stocking when she heard a voice from the doorway.

"I thought stripteases were supposed to wait until the audience was in the room," Sherlock said, amused. She turned to see him smiling in appreciation at her. He was wearing his dressing gown and holding a tray of food. "I realized when I woke up that it's close to dinnertime. I didn't want you and the baby to miss a meal." He grinned. "We can pick up where we left off after."

Molly suddenly felt her eyes well up. "Sherlock, thank you… When I woke up alone, I thought, well, I thought you were bored with me or something. But now I know you were thinking of me and the baby…" She trailed off, sniffling. "Don't mind me, it's the hormones…"

"Oh, sweetheart…" he murmured. He set the tray down on the vanity then sat on the bed and gently pulled her into his lap. "I'm sorry, I should've realized… Believe me, I could never be bored with you, Molly, in or out of bed. What you did, well, let's just say that I've never had head that good."

She smiled at him. "Really?"

He grinned. "Yes, and I intend to return the favor after we eat."

"Mmm…" She pulled his head down for a kiss.

Sherlock kissed her hungrily and she shifted so that she was straddling his lap, kissing his nose, cheeks, and chin before finally kissing his lips again. He held her tight against him, his hands sliding down to cup her lace-covered bum.

Molly shivered then pulled back a bit, murmuring, "I think we better stop while the food's still warm."

He nodded. "Good idea."

She moved to sit on the bed then he retrieved the tray and set it down between them. Molly took one look then grinned at him.

"Scrambled eggs and sausages?"

"My new specialty," he said proudly. "I looked up the instructions on YouTube and everything."

Molly giggled. "I'm honored." She started eating. Sherlock joined her and soon their forks were jousting over who would get the next bite. Molly got the last one, though Sherlock swore he let her have it.

She sat back against the headboard with a cup of tea, smiling softly at her husband. "I was so proud of you today – staying in control, giving that beautiful eulogy," she smirked, "not telling your mother to go to hell, though she desperately deserved it."

"So, you heard her too, huh?" he asked quietly, sipping his own tea.

She nodded. "It always breaks my heart when she talks about you like that. Ford's too. He always stood up for you."

He reached over to take her hand, squeezing it gently. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"You're welcome." She finished her tea then grinned at him. "You were saying something about returning the favor?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Impatient, aren't we?"

"Have you seen yourself? You're sex on a stick, of course I'm impatient."

His face fell at her words and he looked away.

"Sherlock?" she asked softly, concerned. "What's wrong?"

He didn't say anything for a moment then he asked quietly, "Who do you see, Molly?"

"What?"

Sherlock looked back at her, his eyes unreadable. "When you're with me, who do you see – me or Ford?"

"Sherlock," she said quietly, "how can you-"

"Just answer the question."

She swallowed hard. "I stopped seeing you as Ford when you were still walking up the fucking path to the house, okay? You look like Ford, you've taken his place, but you're not him, and I'm certainly not pretending that you're him when I touch you. Ford's gone but you're here. I love you, Sherlock. When we're together, I know it's you in my arms, no one else."

He whispered, "Forgive me, Molly…" Sherlock started to get up but Molly took both of his hands, keeping him in place.

"You are not running away," she said gently but firmly. "You're confused and hurt, I understand that. Our relationship is … unconventional, to say the least. Did you think that I'm only having sex with you this soon because you and Ford share a face?"

Sherlock nodded, ashamed.

She smiled softly. "You really don't know the depths of my feelings for you, do you?" She reached up to gently stroke his cheek. "I would think the fantastic oral sex would be a clue."

He laughed softly, his mood instantly lightening. "I'm sorry, Molly. I'm an ass."

"No, darling – you're human. You're not perfect, none of us are. You did what you should have – you told me what was wrong and you gave me a chance to overcome it." She set her cup on the nightstand then grinned at him. "Why don't I finish that striptease?"

He grinned back. "I'd love that, sweetheart."

She got up then put one foot on the bed and slowly rolled the stocking down her leg. Sherlock gazed at her bared skin. He reached out to touch her calf but she slipped the stocking off her foot and playfully smacked him with it.

"Uh-uh," Molly murmured, grinning. "Not until the performance is done."

Sherlock pouted and Molly wanted to suck on that full bottom lip of his. Instead, she switched legs then unclipped the other stocking and rolled it down. As soon as it was free from her foot, Sherlock reached over and snatched it, grinning.

She smirked. "Do I want to know what you're going to do with that?"

"They're silk, right?" he asked as he grabbed the first one too. "I hear they make good restraints."

Molly felt like her resulting blush went from her cheeks all the way to her now-bare toes.


	62. 01 The Antidote

A/N: For the December 2nd prompt - "... and nobody objected." Rated T. I decided to try my hand at potter!lock. One-shot.

* * *

"Hi, kids," the young and pretty witch said, smiling. "I'm Professor Hooper, I'll be filling in for Professor Holmes while he recovers."

The first thing she noticed was how relieved her temporary students looked.

* * *

"Professor Holmes must absolutely terrorize his students," Molly said as she sat down next to her best friend at the High Table.

Mary smirked. "I'm not sure if I'd call it terrorizing, but he never hesitates to call a spade a spade, or an idiot an idiot. He's demanding, to be sure, but that's because he knows what his students are capable of." Mary Morstan was the Muggle Studies teacher and had recommended Molly as a substitute when the Potions Master had a bad reaction to a student's botched assignment.

"I'm sure they'd live up to their potential more if they weren't under constant threat of detention or losing house points."

"Probably, but good luck telling Sherlock that."

"You know, I think I will – I have to give him the second dose of the antidote tonight anyway."

Mary grinned. "Give John my love."

Molly smiled. "You'll see him tonight, you can tell him yourself then."

* * *

Hospitals always made Molly uneasy. It was the main reason why she specialized in potions instead of healing. Thankfully, John Watson, the school's healer, always went out of his way to make everyone who came to him comfortable.

He grinned when she came into his office. "Hi, Molly." He noticed the bottle in her hand. "I see you brought the Half-Blood Royal Pain the antidote. Careful, he's in an especially surly mood tonight. Sherlock's always at his worst when he's bored, but right now he's epically bored."

"Duly noted," she said, grinning back. "I'll just give this to him. I know I'm going to need a cuppa after."

"I'll have one waiting for you."

"You're a dear." She walked out of his office and down the first row of beds until she got to the curtained-off bed at the end, next to the windows. She knocked on the frame that held the curtains. "Professor?"

"Enter," the deep voice behind the curtain muttered.

Molly stepped around the curtain and saw, or rather, didn't see Professor Sherlock Holmes sitting up in bed. The botched potion had rendered him invisible, so all she could see was the pajama top he was wearing and the shape of his lower half under the blanket. At first, Sherlock had been delighted at his invisibility – it was his chance to spy on the students and give out even more detentions. Unfortunately for him, Headmaster Lestrade nixed that idea and confined him to the Hospital Wing until he was visible again.

One sleeve of the pajama top came up. "The antidote? Maybe this one will actually work."

"Good evening to you too," she muttered as she sought his invisible hand with her free one then put the bottle in it. "And you know perfectly well that it normally takes multiple doses for enough antidote to build up in the patient's system." Molly watched as the top of the bottle seemed to pull away on its own then the bottle floated to the space above the pajama top's collar, the bottle was tilted, and the pale blue liquid in it flowed out and disappeared. "Fortunately for you, your invisibility's only skin-deep, so it shouldn't take too long to-"

She cut herself off with a gasp as the handsomest wizard she had ever seen suddenly came into view. He was just her type – tall, dark-haired, and blue-eyed, though his were blue-green, they were mesmerizing.

Sherlock ignored her staring and examined his hands. "Finally," he muttered then he got out of bed.

Molly gasped even louder when she saw that while Sherlock had been wearing a pajama top in bed, he hadn't bothered with the bottoms and thus everything was now on full display.

Sherlock must have noticed her flaming cheeks – he grabbed his wand from the bed and transfigured his pajama top to a black silk dressing gown. "Er … sorry about that."

"Um, no, it's fine," she said quickly, her cheeks still burning. "I … um … guess you'll be back to your classes tomorrow."

He nodded. "It wouldn't do to have my students get too complacent." He assessed her for a moment. "Perhaps we could discuss them over a drink in my chambers?"

Molly couldn't help a grin. "I'd like that."


	63. 02 Just Another Hogsmeade Weekend

A/N: For the November 20th prompt - "Write about a booth in the corner." Rated T. Sequel to The Antidote.

* * *

As soon as they were in his chambers, Sherlock left her in his sitting room while he went to his bedroom to change. He knew exactly what he wanted to wear – an aubergine dress shirt, bespoke charcoal trousers, and his best black robes, left open of course, just like the first two buttons of his shirt. When he walked back into the sitting room, he found Molly seated in one of the armchairs by the roaring fire.

He smirked. "Comfortable?"

She grinned up at him. "I could use a firewhiskey, but other than that, yes."

Sherlock chuckled as he walked over to the small bar and poured them each a firewhiskey. When he handed her the glass, her fingers brushed his and he felt a jolt. It took all of his superior willpower not to pull her close and snog her like those ridiculous people in the muggle shows Mary liked so much. She didn't seem affected, though, which made resisting much easier.

He sat down across from her, noting that she was still dressed for teaching – a sensible skirt and blouse under her dark blue robes. "When Mary suggested that her muggle-born friend fill in for me, I was envisioning someone a bit more…" He trailed off, grinning.

Molly took the bait, just as he knew she would. "A bit more what?" she asked, smiling.

"Outrageous, mischievous … colorful."

She laughed softly. "That's because I thought a teacher had to be a bit more subdued. Normally, I wear colors and patterns my friends call eye-searing. Since no one from the outside is there to see me at my normal job researching new potions, I can wear whatever I choose."

A sudden image of her sitting on a table in some potions lab wearing nothing at all came to mind and he had a difficult time dragging his mind away from it. "So … did you find the Anderson boy as idiotic as I do?"

* * *

As the fall turned to winter, Sherlock found himself wanting to see Molly again more and more. Their respective work kept them too busy to meet again but they wrote each other frequently. More than once, he contemplated drinking one of his students' botched potions just so she could fill in for him again.

It was the Hogsmeade weekend after the first snowfall and he had been pressed into service as a chaperone. He had just broken up a snowball fight between fifth and sixth-years when he heard a familiar laugh. Sherlock turned to see Molly coming over to him, a black peacoat over her muggle clothes, a pink knit hat on her head and a matching scarf around her neck. He thought she looked utterly adorable.

"Can't you let them have a little fun?" she asked, grinning.

"Knowing that lot, it won't be long until they start putting rocks in the snowballs," he muttered, then he grinned at her. "Hello, Molly. I didn't know you were this far North."

"Hi, Sherlock. Mary asked me to come up to help her with wedding plans." She slipped her gloved hand into his bare one. "I hear you're Best Man."

Sherlock looked down at their joined hands, surprised, then back up at her, smiling a bit. "I am, much to my chagrin. I suspect John chose me because he can't wait to see me make an ass of myself giving the Best Man's speech."

"So, it has nothing to do with you being his best friend?"

"That … may have something to do with it."

"Uh huh."

They went to The Three Broomsticks for drinks, Sherlock insisting on a table in the corner so he could keep one eye on the students.

After they had exhausted all the usual small talk topics, he finally said what was on his mind. "You haven't said in your letters – are you seeing anyone?"

Molly smirked. "Do you really think I'd be having drinks with the sexiest professor at Hogwarts if I were?"

A nearby student choked on his butterbeer, causing Sherlock to dock ten points from Gryffindor for eavesdropping, then he turned to Molly, his cheeks pink. "I … er … suppose not."

She reached over to take his hand again and he quite liked the feeling of her bare hand in his. "But I am now."


	64. Needing A Lift

A/N: For the March 19th prompt - "You're in the backseat of a taxi." This was also inspired by a Tumblr prompt by not-aph-england. Rated T. Stand-alone.

* * *

The case was solved. It had amounted to no more than a five and he should have been on his way back to Baker Street to look for another but something made Sherlock pretend to be a cabbie for just a little longer.

The rain had been coming down in sheets for the past hour and most of the streets were empty. Sherlock turned a corner of a residential street and could see a woman on the sidewalk halfway down. She was surrounded on three sides by suitcases, like three squat guards between her and the rest of the world. The woman didn't have an umbrella and he could see she was completely soaked.

She didn't lift her arm but he knew she needed him just the same. He pulled up to the curb in front of her then jumped out and circled the cab, unmindful of the rain pelting him. "You need a taxi," he said firmly then grabbed the first suitcase before she had a chance to argue. "Get in."

Sherlock had never seen anyone look so dumbfounded but something made her snap out of it and she got into the back of the cab. He quickly put the suitcase in the boot then did the same with the other two. As soon as he was back in the driver's seat, he looked at her in the rearview mirror. "Where to, Miss?"

"I just want to go home," she said quietly. Her large brown eyes were on the verge of tears.

He felt his protective urge rising with each moment that passed. "Sure thing, what's the address?"

"I … I don't know." The woman swallowed hard. "I just broke up with my fiancé. We were going to get married next week. I gave up my flat last month, so I don't even have that to go back to." A tear ran down her cheek.

 _There has to be someone who can take care of her._ "What about family?"

"No … no family, no friends who would take me in either."

 _Damn…_ He had half a mind to take her back to Baker Street but he didn't think that would go over well. _Then I'll take her to the next best place._

Sherlock couldn't help delighting in the surprise on her face when he pulled up to the curb in front of the Corinthia Hotel. She opened her mouth to say something but he turned and grinned at her. "The Corinthia, Miss. Best hotel in London, if you ask me."

"I can't afford this," she said quickly, panic rising. "I spent almost all of my savings on the wedding…"

"I'll take care of it, don't you worry."

She scowled in confusion. "How can a cab driver afford this place?"

He smirked. "You'd be surprised."

"You don't even know my name…"

"Alright, what is it?"

"Molly. Um, Dr. Molly Hooper."

"So, Dr. Molly Hooper, will you let me do this for you?"

"Um, I guess so. What's your name?"

"Excellent. And the name is Sherlock Holmes."

After he had arranged for her to stay in one of the nicest suites for as long as she needed it, Sherlock returned the impounded cab to NSY then let Greg drop him off at Baker Street. There he found an email from a potential client and was too busy to give the unfortunate Dr. Hooper another thought for over a fortnight.

As soon as the case was over, however, she was in his thoughts again. He called the hotel and spoke to the front desk manager, who told him Molly had checked out the day before with no forwarding address. Looking at the receipt the manager had emailed him, Sherlock saw that her room service had included a lot of chocolate and wine.

 _She was nursing her broken heart._ A quick internet search told him she worked at St. Bartholomew's as a pathologist. After calling in a favor to the British Government, he had her new address. A nagging thought, which sounded uncomfortably like Mummy, told him not to show up empty-handed.

A quick trip downstairs earned him a cutting from Mrs. Hudson's spider plant and a hanging pot. A promise to tell her the whole story later earned him a ride in her car, and this time not in the boot. He waited until she pulled away before pressing the button for Molly's flat.

"Who is it?" came her voice from the speaker.

Sherlock smiled a bit. "Did you enjoy your stay, Miss?"

"Oh my God, it's you!" she said excitedly then buzzed him in.

By the time Sherlock was at her front door, he realized he was nervous. His knuckles barely hit the door before it was opened and Molly stood there, beaming at him.

"I can't believe you're here!" She stepped aside to let him in.

Sherlock barely glanced at the flat before turning back to her, grinning. "I found out about your new flat and wanted to give you a house-warming gift." He held out the pot. "I know it's a little scrawny now, but spider plants are hardy."

She took it, smiling. "Thank you! And not just for this – the hotel was just what I needed. I tried to find you after that first night but the cab company had no idea who you were."

"That's because I was only pretending to be a cabbie."

She stared at him. "What?"

He grinned. "I'm a consulting detective. I went undercover as a cabbie that night."

"Oh… The front desk manager wouldn't tell me anything, he said you preferred discretion."

"He would be right. I didn't want you to feel obligated."

"I'm not, I'm just really, really grateful. I'm back on my feet now – I have this place, I got a promotion to head pathologist, and I'm making new friends."

His grin widened. "Am I among them?"

She grinned back. "Actually, I was hoping you'd be firmly in the 'more than friends' category."

"I think we can arrange that."


	65. 01 Right Under Her Nose

A/N: For the March 29th prompt - "Write about something astonishing." Rated T.

* * *

 _How ironic that I came all the way to California only to find an English castle._ The thought amused Molly Hooper as she walked around the relocated 14th Century castle. She was on an extended holiday after being laid off from Bart's and was trying to figure out what to do with her life.

 _I'm almost thirty and I have no idea what I want. Maybe it'll just come to me._

She was in the castle's great hall, admiring a suit of armor, when she heard a man's voice behind her.

"Impressive, isn't it? You'd almost think it was the real thing instead of a very good replica."

The voice was deep enough to make her toes curl, as smooth and rich as dark chocolate. She turned to see the owner of the voice and her jaw dropped. He was easily the handsomest man she'd ever seen – tall, the muscular build of an Olympic swimmer, a head of silky-looking black curls, a face like sculpted marble, and the most unusual blue-green-gold eyes. She wanted to drown in them and his voice. He wore sinfully tight black jeans and an aubergine dress shirt that went perfectly with his coloring.

He grinned at her and she nearly forgot her name. "Sorry, were you under the impression that everything here is real?"

"I … um … no." _Actually, yes._

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through her body. "The castle itself is real but everything inside it is fake. The owner couldn't afford to fill it with actual antiques after paying to have the castle shipped here then reassembled."

"Ah." She smiled a bit. "You're English, unless that accent is a really good fake too."

The man smirked. "Yes, I'm English. Welsh, if you go back far enough."

"Me too." She held out her hand. "I'm Molly Hooper."

He took her hand then bowed and kissed it, grinning up at her. "Call me Sherlock."

She blinked in surprise at his gesture. "Um, Sherlock what?"

"Holmes."

"Are you a curator or something?"

He grinned. "You could say that. Would you like a private tour?"

"I'd love it."

* * *

Sherlock had absolutely no idea what possessed him. He was only supposed to observe the humans, not engage in conversation with one, but the petite Englishwoman appealed to him. Oh, he knew she was English before she even opened her mouth – her "English rose" complexion gave her away. She was sweet in face and character, a charming little thing. It was rare for him to feel attracted to any human female, but he felt her drawing him in without any effort on her part whatsoever. Perhaps that was what appealed to him the most.

He showed her the entire castle and the grounds and couldn't help sharing her wonder at it all. Seeing it through her eyes was a balm to his jaded nature. After they climbed the hill overlooking the castle courtyard, she sat down on the grass then patted the space next to her. He willingly obeyed, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

"Are you going to be here long?" Sherlock heard himself say. He could just kick himself. _You're supposed to keep your distance, not draw them in._

"I'm … not sure, actually," she said, smiling weakly. "I'm currently between jobs. I decided to travel while I weighed my options."

He nodded. "There aren't any openings here, unfortunately."

"Too bad, I already like one of the employees."

Sherlock chuckled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She turned to look at the partially ruined tower nearby. "Are visitors allowed in there?"

"No, it's a private residence."

She stared at him. "That?" The stone tower was five stories tall. The roof was gone, as was part of the fifth story.

He chuckled. "The first three floors are perfectly intact."

"Oh. Who lives there?"

Sherlock grinned. "Me."

* * *

Molly stayed and talked until the castle closed at dusk. Despite every ounce of sense he had telling him not to, he asked her to come back the next day, and was thrilled when she agreed.

As soon as she was gone, he climbed the tower's stairs to the ruined fifth story and looked out at the castle. A light was on in the castle's east wing, in the master suite.

 _Rupert will be expecting his little show,_ he thought, sighing heavily. Shedding first his clothes then his human form, Sherlock took to the sky, his leathery wings carrying him far above the castle. Rays from the setting sun hit his brown-gold scales, making him shine like the coins he hoarded in the cavern below his tower.

As the ancient dragon soared over the nearby hills, he wondered what Molly would say if she saw him like this.


	66. 02 Theories

A/N: For the April 4th prompt - "It was a rainy day." Rated T. The day after Right Under Her Nose.

* * *

Molly woke the next morning to the sound of rain hitting the window. Being English, rain was almost a constant companion, she just wasn't expecting it in "sunny California." Instead of the flirty sundress she was planning to wear, she showered then put on jeans, a light jumper, and her trainers. Armed with a borrowed umbrella from the hotel's concierge desk, she drove to the castle.

The dreary weather kept the number of visitors low so Molly had no problems finding a place to park. She made a mad dash to the entrance and was about to pay the entrance fee, only to be told by the woman at the ticket booth that she was there as Sherlock's guest.

"VIP guest, to be precise," said Sherlock from behind her.

Molly turned to smile at him. "Good morning, Sherlock."

He grinned at her. "Good morning, Molly." He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

"We shall," she said, taking his arm. She thought he was going to take her around the castle again but he surprised her by leading her back outside.

"I'd like to show you my home." He smiled a bit. "That is, if you don't mind getting a little wet."

 _Too late._ She grinned. "Not at all."

They ran hand-in-hand across the courtyard, laughing like loons. Molly was decidedly winded by the time they got to the tower's door but Sherlock wasn't breathing heavy at all.

"You're in incredible shape," she said, grinning. _Like I didn't know that already._

Sherlock grinned back. "Thank you." He unlocked the large wooden door then stood aside. "Ladies first."

"Thank you." She walked into the room and Sherlock followed, closing the door behind him. The large room was completely round with a spiral staircase at the far side of the room. The sitting area was decorated in jewel-toned velvets and silks. Persian carpets decorated the hardwood floor and medieval tapestries covered the stone walls. _Just one wall, really – no corners. They must all be replicas._ The gourmet kitchen was done in steel and dark wood.

"This is charming," Molly said.

"Thank you," Sherlock said, beaming proudly. "I decorated it myself. The second floor is the guest bedroom and bathroom, and the third floor is my bedroom and bathroom."

"You must have a lot of guests – I imagine everyone would want a chance to sleep in a fairytale tower."

He chuckled. "Actually, I don't get many guests. It must be my personality."

She smirked. "You mean you're not this charming all the time?"

"Only around beautiful displaced Englishwomen."

Molly grinned happily. "Then I'm honored."

* * *

The entire time, a voice in Sherlock's head was demanding to know exactly what the hell he was doing. He ignored it. He was having far too good of a time talking to Molly. They had a shared interest in poetry and tales of chivalry.

"What I don't like are stories where the knight kills the dragon," Molly said, surprising Sherlock down to the core. The two of them were sitting on his over-stuffed sofa, talking about knights and damsels in distress. "They were probably just misidentified animals, killing livestock because they're predators and they need to eat other animals to survive. Then some idiot decided to sacrifice a virgin to it."

Sherlock smirked, but inside he was very curious. "What kind of animal do you think they were?"

She thought about it a bit. "Reptilian, obviously. Maybe a crocodile or a large lizard. The wings and breathing fire bit was added later to make it more dramatic."

His smirk grew to a pleased grin. _If you only knew._ "What would you do if you encountered a real dragon?"

Molly grinned back. "Run like hell in the other direction."

He chuckled. "Probably a wise move. If dragons were real then, do you think they'd still be around?"

"I doubt it – you don't hear stories about people finding dragons these days. Bigfoot or Nessie, perhaps, but not dragons."

"Perhaps they're just very well hidden."

"Perhaps." She looked thoughtful for a moment then smiled. "I want to change my answer – if I encountered a real dragon, I'd want to settle the pop culture debate on how intelligent they were, then I'd run like hell."

Sherlock laughed. "You want to know if he can talk."

"Basically, but I wouldn't stay for a chat – I don't want to be dinner."

His grin turned decidedly naughty. _Oh, Molly, when I eat you, I promise you'll enjoy it._

Molly must have noticed his grin – she blushed prettily. "Um, so what's your theory about dragons?"

"Mine? I think they were exactly as the legends depicted – huge flying reptiles."

"But if they were real, why aren't they still around?"

"Scientists thought the coelacanth was extinct but it turned up again. Who's to say you won't see a dragon tomorrow?" _Or right now?_

Molly smiled a bit. "I'll make you a promise – if I see a dragon tomorrow, I'll stay long enough to ask it why dragons have vanished, then I'll run like hell."

Sherlock chuckled. "That's good enough for me."


	67. 03 I'm The Exception

A/N: For the March 9th prompt - "Write about a secret revealed." Rated T. The day after Theories.

* * *

The next morning, Molly wondered what she was going to do with her day. Sherlock had told her that he'd be in an all-day staff meeting but he'd take her out to dinner that night.

 _I just need to find something to do until then_. She talked to the concierge and he suggested going on a hike. Molly decided to hike in the hills near the castle. She packed a bag with bottled water, trail mix, and a map she got from the concierge then drove to the castle. After parking her car, she took a deep breath of the clean, fresh air then started along the hiking trail.

She was deep in one of the wooded parts of the path when she noticed how silent it was. _No birds, no animals, not even leaves rustling. It's … eerie._ The trees cleared as she made her way up a large hill. At the top of the hill, Molly looked around, amazed at the view. She could see the castle off in the distance but other than that, there wasn't a single sign of human habitation anywhere – just trees, hills, and a winding river.

Molly was about to sit down and have a snack when she heard a loud flap, like a ship's sails flapping in the breeze. _Or like gigantic wings…_ She stared in wonder, her jaw dropping as a huge gold dragon rose from beyond the trees and took to the sky, circling high above her before heading towards the distant mountains.

"Wait!" she shouted, suddenly desperate not to lose sight of it. "Don't go!"

The dragon suddenly turned and came back, landing gracefully on the hill, just yards from her. It was the largest animal she had ever seen, about the length of a city bus from its nose to the tip of its tail. It sat on its haunches, like the world's largest housecat, its wings folded against its back and the long tail curling around its feet.

She stood frozen for several minutes, just staring at it, then finally her curiosity overrode her fear. She approached it slowly, both hands out, palms-up, like she was approaching an unfamiliar dog. The dragon looked at her with large blue-green-gold eyes, the pupils vertical slits like a cat's. It assessed her for a moment and Molly couldn't help noticing the intelligence in its gaze. _Those eyes are so familiar, they're almost exactly like-_

"Don't you have something to ask me, Molly?" the dragon asked, his lip curled in a smirk.

 _That voice! It's just like… No, it can't… But the voice plus the eyes… Oh my God…_ "Sherlock?!"

He chuckled. "The same."

That was all Molly heard before the world went black.

* * *

Molly woke in an unfamiliar bed. Unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. By her estimation, the thread count on the sinfully soft white cotton sheets was over five thousand. The black velvet spread added another layer of softness. She sat up and looked around. _Stone, no corners. Right, I'm in Sherlock's bed._ She pulled off the bedclothes, happy to see she was still dressed except for her hiking boots, which were on the floor beside the bed.

It took a Herculean effort but she managed to stand. Unfortunately, she started to sway as soon as her feet hit the floor. Just as she was about to pitch forward, strong arms wrapped around her and helped her lay down again.

"It's alright," Sherlock murmured. "Just rest. You had a shock, it'll take time for you to find your equilibrium again."

She stared up at his human-seeming face. "Are you going to eat me?" she asked in a small voice that she barely recognized as her own.

He sat down on the bed, smiling down at her gently. "No, Molly." Sherlock smirked. "At least, not the way you're thinking."

"What other way-" She cut herself off, her eyes widening and her cheeks flaming. "Sherlock!"

He chuckled. "You are a beautiful woman, after all."

"I cannot believe you said that," she muttered, looking away, then she looked back at him, confused. "You're attracted to humans?"

"Of course. I've lived alongside humans my entire life."

"How long is that?"

"Eleven centuries. I was a stripling when William the Conqueror came to England. I still say it was a bad idea to let him."

She raised an eyebrow. "How can you look human if you're a dragon?"

He shrugged. "Every dragon has their own theory as to how we can blend in. Most think it's magic, I think it's a natural camouflage."

"Can you … that is, could we … er…"

Sherlock chuckled. "You're wondering if it's possible for us to have intercourse."

"Um, yeah." Molly's felt her cheeks flame anew.

He lowered his head close to hers, gazing into her eyes as he murmured, "Why don't we find out?"

"Sherlock…" She put as much warning into her tone as she could, but she feared it wasn't coming across that way.

He kissed the tip of her nose then sat back, smiling a bit. "Alright, I'll behave. And in answer to your question, yes."

"What about-"

"Children? Yes, though it's been centuries since there was a half-human, half-dragon."

"Why?"

"Most of my kind avoids humans these days. We have our own social order. We'd have our own towns if dragons weren't normally solitary creatures. When we do come together, whether to mate or fight, we are sure to do it far from human populations."

"Then what are you doing here, surrounded by people?"

He smiled a bit. "I'm the exception."

 _I'll say you are._ "How did a millennium-old dragon end up in a country that's not even three hundred years old yet?"

Sherlock chuckled. "You haven't guessed? I came with the castle."

"Okay, that's a story I need to hear."


	68. The Apple Of His Eye

A/N: For the August 13th prompt - "And when autumn finally arrived." Rated T. Stand-alone. This is inspired by the trip my family and I take every fall to get apples.

* * *

"Tell me why we're doing this again," Sherlock grumbled as a very large eighteen-wheeler passed their hired car a little too close for Sherlock's comfort. _I hate driving in the States. Everything's backwards and the other vehicles are always much too large._

"It's a chance to get out of the city and see the countryside," Molly said, smiling cheerfully in the front passenger seat.

Sherlock scoffed. "Omaha has half a million people, it barely qualifies as a city. Give me London and its 8 million, a good number of whom are either criminals or clients."

She playfully rolled her eyes then played with the radio stations until Bonnie Raitt's "Something To Talk About" started playing and she sang along.

Not that he would admit it to anyone even under pain of death, but Sherlock always thought it was absolutely adorable when Molly sang along to whatever song was playing. If she knew it, she sang, usually at the top of her lungs if it was just the two of them.

The two of them were in eastern Nebraska, "Land of Cows and Cornfields," Sherlock had declared it as soon as they had landed at the airport. They had just finished up with a case and the client (a university professor who was being blackmailed by a former student) invited them to stay another week. Sherlock had been itching to get back to "the real world" but Molly was charmed by the place and wanted to take the client up on his offer. After asking him for suggestions of things they could do while they were in the area, "apple picking" was Molly's first choice.

Now they were heading down what the GPS called an interstate but what Sherlock deemed to be just a back road. The professor said that the best apples were in the orchards in and around Nebraska City, about an hour south. Molly was quite taken by the passing landscape – cornfields (the plants dried up and ready for harvesting) occasionally broken up by creeks and tree-covered hills. The trees' leaves had turned to brown, orange, and yellow, with the rare blaze of red.

"Look at that sky, Sherlock," she said, her smile almost as wide as the open sky above them. It was a pristine blue dotted with fluffy white clouds. "We don't get skies like this in London."

"That's because London has actual skyscrapers," Sherlock muttered.

Molly giggled. "Now I know why you didn't want to come here alone – you need an audience for your deductions … and your griping."

Sherlock would've rolled his eyes but he didn't trust American drivers enough to take his eyes off the road for a split second. "Rosie's teething which meant Mary didn't want to leave her which meant John didn't want to leave them."

"I'm glad domesticity is working out for them," she said, smiling. "They're so happy."

"They are," Sherlock reluctantly agreed.

"I just hope I can find the same happiness someday." There was more than a hint of wistfulness in her tone.

"I'm not made for such a life," he said after a moment.

"What makes you think that?" she asked, curious.

"I'd get bored with a regular job, I'm sure I'd be bored with a regular relationship."

Molly smiled a bit. "Considering that you've never had one, how do you know?" She turned back to the road ahead. "I can't say that I miss Tom, but I do miss being in a relationship. Having someone to share your life with gives it more meaning."

Sherlock thought about that the rest of the way to the orchard. Molly tried to engage him in conversation a couple of times but eventually gave up.

An hour later, Sherlock was picking apples from one tree while Molly picked from another. He couldn't help paying more attention to her than what he was doing. _She looks so beautiful with the sun on her face. Maybe I should ask her out. No, no, in that way lies madness. But I want to... I'll let her settle this – if the next thing she says or does is in any way romantic or sexual, I'll ask her out._

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice Molly had left her tree until she called his name. He looked up. "Yes?"

Molly tossed him an apple, which he caught easily. A bit of trivia flew out of his Mind Palace and smacked him upside the head. _In Ancient Greece, throwing an apple at someone was saying that you loved them, and catching an apple thrown at you said that you accepted that love._ By the hopeful look on Molly's face, Sherlock could tell she knew that custom.

He grinned at her then took one of his apples and tossed it at her. She caught it just as easily, her eyes wide.

Sherlock chuckled. "Now that that's out of the way, what do you say to us sharing a hotel room for the rest of the week?"

Molly grinned. "Only if you don't hog the covers."

He smirked. "Who says we'll be sleeping?"

 _How do you like them apples?_


	69. In the Middle of the Aisle

A/N: For the April 1st prompt - "You're in a grocery store." Rated T. Stand-alone.

* * *

 _Too many choices,_ Molly thought, _and none of them familiar._ She was in the States for a week-long conference and was tired of room service. The woman at the front desk had directed her to a nearby grocery store and Molly was now in the cereal aisle, looking at the offerings.

"With all of this sugar," she muttered, "I'd be better off eating the box."

"Probably, but then you'd miss out on one of the great American 'delicacies,'" said a familiar voice behind her.

Molly turned to her husband, grinning. "I won't even ask how you knew I was in this store. What I will ask is what are you doing in Chicago?"

Sherlock chuckled. "I missed you, of course. This is the longest we've been apart since the wedding."

She rolled her eyes fondly. "Sherlock, it's only been three days."

"Exactly."

Molly laughed softly. "I love you. I take it your bags are already in my room?"

He grinned. "Of course. John and Mary took the room across the hall."

She smiled delightedly. "They're here too? Who's got Rosie?"

"Mrs. Hudson. Wiggins said he'd run any errands she needed." Sherlock took the cart and they walked down the aisle. "Mycroft promised to keep an eye on all three of them."

Molly smirked. "He'd do that anyway, but still, it's nice to have Big Brother watching over them."

Sherlock nodded. "John and Mary would be here except that they were hit by a terrible case of jet lag."

She giggled. "I'm sure it's more like they saw the king size bed and wanted to enjoy a child-free night."

"Something like that." Sherlock smirked. "We should take advantage too, our child-free nights are numbered."

Molly scowled in confusion. "What? We don't have any kids, Sherlock."

He chuckled. "We will in about seven and a half months. You can't tell me you haven't noticed the signs, Dr. Holmes."

She stared at him. "I thought it was stress … or the flu…" Her face lit up. "A baby?"

Sherlock grinned. "You can buy a home pregnancy test while we're here if you want confirmation, but really, it's obvious you-"

Molly cut him off with a kiss.


	70. Death by Chocolate

A/N: Inspired by the June 8th prompt - "This is the voice of my body." Rated T. Stand-alone.

* * *

Like every other instrument at his disposal, Sherlock knew exactly what his body needed to be at its best. Unlike his violin and microscope, he often went days at a time ignoring his body's demands, especially if he was on a case.

It was when the case was solved that his body's demands became more insistent. So insistent, in fact, that it was like a voice shouting at him.

 **Sleep! We have to sleep, Sherlock! It's been four days!** Sherlock moved to the sofa but his body stopped him. **Not there! Catnaps don't count! Go to bed, dammit!** Deciding it wasn't worth the struggle, he gave in and walked to the bedroom.

Sixteen hours later, he was up again. After a trip to the loo, his body was still insistent, though no longer yelling at him as he walked into the kitchen. **We need food, Sherlock. And not just tea and biscuits, real food. Sustenance.** One peek in the fridge told him there was nothing worth eating. _That severed head needs to go back to the morgue,_ he thought _._ **Ooo, the morgue means Molly!**

 _From one appetite to another,_ Sherlock thought, rolling his eyes. His libido was the only thing he neglected more than his body. _I'll just drop that off at the morgue and pick up some "real" food on the way back._

After properly disposing of the head, Sherlock wandered into the path lab, telling his body they weren't there to see Molly. **Uh huh, tell me another.** As soon as he spotted her at her favorite microscope, his body went on full alert. **There's Molly! There she is! Do her!**

 _I most certainly will not! Molly and I are just friends._

 **You can lie to yourself but you can't lie to me, Sherlock. You know we're reacting to her. Pupils dilating, heartrate increasing, palms sweating, not to mention increased blood-flow to the-**

 _Enough!_

 **You know she wants you too. You've deduced it a hundred times before. All you have to do is say the words.**

 _I will never-_

"Sherlock?" Molly's soft, concerned voice cut through his inner argument, one hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "You okay?"

 _I didn't even hear her approach, that's how lost in thought I was._ "I … I'm fine, Molly."

She looked at him skeptically and his body was drawn to her like a magnet. **Isn't she the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth? So sweet, so caring. Look at those big brown eyes. You know what drowning in them should be called?**

"Death by Chocolate," Sherlock blurted.

 **Exactly.**

"Sherlock, really, what is it? You're not making any sense and your … your eyes… Oh God, are you high again?"

"No, no," he said quickly. "I'm … torn."

"About what?" she asked gently. "Perhaps I can help."

He gazed into her eyes and it really did feel like Death by Chocolate, so rich and luscious. "You're the only one who can."

"Just tell me what you need."

 **You.**

 _You._

"You."


	71. Cold Snap

A/N: For the May 8th prompt - "Write about a cold snap." Rated T. Takes place about a month after HLV/TAB. Stand-alone.

* * *

 _Two more hours,_ Molly thought. She was determined to wait it out like a self-sufficient adult. _Two more hours then the heat's supposed to be fixed. I can do this._ She let out a sigh and winced when she realized she could see her breath. _On second thought, maybe not._ Shivering despite the long underwear, jeans, two jumpers, two pairs of socks, and the fingerless gloves she wore underneath the blanket around her shoulders, she grabbed her mobile and hit the speed dial button for Sherlock, grateful she didn't have to actually dial. _I doubt I can with hands this cold._

Sherlock answered on the first ring. "Molly? What's wrong?"

 _He actually sounds concerned,_ she thought, feeling better already. "Hi, Sherlock. Um, can I come over? The heat is out in my building and they're saying it won't be fixed for hours."

"Of course." There was a pause. "It'll be dark soon. Bring everything you'll need to spend the night. And don't argue, it'll take time for the heat to build up anyway."

Molly smiled to herself. _Like I would._ "Thanks, Sherlock. I owe you."

"We can talk about repayment when you get here." She could hear the smile in his voice.

 _Probably helping with whatever experiment he's running._ "Sure thing. I'll see you in a few."

After packing an overnight bag and making sure her elderly neighbor also had somewhere warm to go, she took a cab to Baker Street. The inside of the cab was a great deal warmer than her flat but she still couldn't shake the chill. _It's like it's in my bones, despite that being a physical impossibility._

As the cab pulled up to the building, she could see the lights were on in Sherlock's sitting room. Feeling better by the moment, she paid the cabbie then got out and carried her overnight bag and purse up the front steps. As soon as she reached the door, it was opened by a concerned Sherlock.

"How long did you wait before you gave in and called me?" he asked casually as he let her in. By the knowing look in his eyes, she could tell that he'd already deduced it.

 _I might as well say it._ "An hour," she admitted sheepishly as she took off her hat, scarf, and coat.

Sherlock hung them up for her then he grabbed her overnight bag. "After you. On the way up, you can tell me why you waited so long."

"I didn't want to bother you," she said as she started up the stairs.

"You're never a bother, Molly. If you ever need anything from me, no matter what it is, just ask."

Molly smiled to herself, glad that he couldn't see it. "I'll remember that."

"See that you do." She could hear the smugness in his voice.

Molly stopped at the open door to Sherlock's sitting room and closed her eyes, loving the wall of heat she encountered. Any warmer and it would have been stifling, but she was too busy thawing to care. After a moment, she felt warmth behind her and she realized it was Sherlock's body heat.

 _He's so close. If I leaned back even the slightest bit, I'd touch him._

His chuckle warmed her even further. "It's even warmer inside the room," he murmured.

Her face warmed even more as her cheeks flushed. "Um, right." She stepped into the room and went straight to the blazing fire in the fireplace. Holding out her still-chilled hands to the heat, she turned her head to look at Sherlock as he came over to her. "This is just what I needed, thank you."

He grinned. "You're welcome. There's soup in the kitchen and I'll make tea in a bit."

 _That sounds heavenly._ "I could kiss you right now."

The smirk he gave her spoke volumes. "Perhaps later. Right now, we've got to get you warmed up. Have a seat." He chuckled when she simply plopped down in front of the fire. "That works." He went into the kitchen and came back with a tray which he set down next to her then he sat in his chair.

Molly smiled up at him. "You're not eating?"

"I'll probably grab something from the fridge later."

She chuckled as she started on the chicken noodle soup. "As long as it's not something from Bart's."

Sherlock smirked. "You're the only person I know who can joke about cannibalism as they eat."

Molly grinned cheekily. "Yep, that's what you love about me."

The look he gave her was unreadable, or as she liked to think of it, Sherlockian. Shrugging, she turned her attention back to her soup. "Mmm, this is so good. I should call you every time something in my building breaks down."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "There is … another solution."

She looked up at him, curious. "What would that be?"

"You could move in here."

She nearly choked on her soup. "Sherlock, what-"

"John's old room is available, of course, though I was hoping…"

Molly felt her breath catch. "Ye … yes?"

He gave her a lopsided grin. "I was hoping you wouldn't need it. I'm normally very possessive about my things, but I thought that we could … perhaps … if you want…"

"Yes?"

"Share my room?"

She decided to play with him a little. "I don't know, my bed won't fit in there."

"Er, when I said I wanted to share my room, I meant-"

"I know exactly what you meant, Sherlock," she said warmly, grinning at him. "I was only teasing."

He grinned back. "So, you'll consider it?"

"You know, now that I think about it, I've never seen your room. Why don't you give me the grand tour? We can start with your closet (I've always wanted to wear your aubergine shirt and nothing else) and end with your bed."

Sherlock chuckled. "I never could refuse you, Molly."


	72. Care Package

A/N: Based on the September 17th prompt - "Write about a purchase." Rated K, stand-alone.

* * *

The knocking on her door roused Molly from her doze on the couch. _Who could that be? I told them all to stay away._ As she sat up, wads of tissue she hadn't yet thrown out fell off her pajama-clad chest and landed on the floor. She quickly scooped them up and dropped them in the small plastic bin nearby then got and pulled on her robe on her way to the door.

One glance through the peephole had her groaning quietly. _I should've known, he never listens._ She opened the door and glared at the unrequited love of her life. "Sherlock, I told you, I don't want any visitors. I can't have anyone else getting sick."

Sherlock grinned and damn if it didn't make her knees go weak like it did when they first met. _Must be the meds._ "No need to worry, Molly – I'm never ill. Germs know better than to try to reside in me."

She thought that one over. _I've seen him hungover, high, and recuperating but damn him, he's right – I've never seen him ill._ She sighed quietly. "Fine, but don't blame me if bronchitis decides the fight is worth it." She coughed into her elbow then looked back at him. "Come on in, if you dare. And what's in the bags?"

Sherlock followed her into the kitchen. "Consider it a care package from John and Mary. As soon as they heard you were sick, they said there were things you needed."

"And they sent you so they wouldn't risk passing this on to Rosie," Molly finished. "That's … very thoughtful of all of you. Thank you."

He grinned even wider than before. "You're welcome." Setting the bags on the counter, he emptied them. Bananas, cups of microwavable instant rice, cups of applesauce, a loaf of bread, two boxes of tissues, the latest novel from her favorite romance author, and an iTunes gift card took up most of the counter.

Molly scowled in confusion. "I recognize the food as being the BRAT diet and I'm almost out of tissues, so thank the Watsons for being thoughtful, but the other two?"

Sherlock's cheeks turned slightly pink. "They're from me. I thought the book and some music or perhaps a movie of your choice would distract you from your ailment and the boredom that results from being stuck home alone."

Her heart melted. "Sherlock, if I weren't contagious, I'd kiss you right now."

He smirked. "I think I can risk it."

 _One week later…_

"For God's sake, Molly, I'm dying and you have the gall to giggle?" Sherlock demanded from where he lay on his sitting room sofa.

Molly grinned at her boyfriend of six-and-a-half days. "You're not dying, you're just ill."

"No thanks to you," he muttered as he turned onto his side, away from her.

She playfully rolled her eyes. _He's lucky he's cute._ "Behave and I'll tell you what I ordered from the Victoria's Secret site while you were in the shower."

"Did you get the red or the black?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I don't know why I bother trying to surprise you." _I got both but he doesn't have to know that yet._

"Because you love me, even when I act like the world's biggest toddler," he said hopefully.

"Yeah, there's that."


	73. Curls

A/N: This was inspired by the March 1st prompt - "Write about hair." It was also inspired by one of my little headcanons about Sherlock's hair. It's set during Sherlock's time as a dead man. Rated T, stand-alone.

* * *

Molly woke up to noises coming from the bathroom. She glanced at the clock. _Just after midnight. I wonder what I have to stitch up this time._ Getting out of bed, she pulled on her bathrobe then knocked lightly on the open door.

Sherlock stood at the sink, wearing just the bottom half of the pajama set she kept for him when he needed a bolt hole. He was vigorously drying his hair with a towel.

Molly gazed at the play of muscles under his skin then mentally shook herself. "Good evening, Sherlock." The tiredness in her voice hid the mild annoyance. "No blood so that means you don't need stitches?"

"Correct," Sherlock said as he removed the towel, revealing a head full of disheveled ginger curls.

She raised an eyebrow. "New dye job?"

"Actually … I was just removing the old one." There was a hint of pink on his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he met her eyes in the mirror. "I'm about to start working on the part of Moriarty's web that's in London and I'm a little too recognizable with black hair."

She stared at his reflection. "Um, what?"

He smiled a bit. "Come now, Molly. You're telling me you haven't realized it until now – why the hair on my head didn't match the hair anywhere else?"

It was her turn to blush, her eyes straying to the waistband of his pajama bottoms. "I … um … haven't seen all of you, so I wouldn't know."

He turned to her, grinning. "Would you like to?"


	74. Gifts

A/N: Inspired by the April 26th prompt - "Once, with another woman..." Rated T, stand-alone.

* * *

He was admiring a pair of diamond earrings when he heard her voice behind him.

"No, no, those are far too big for Dr. Hooper's ears," Irene purred, amused.

Sherlock groaned quietly. "I didn't expect to see you in London this decade, Ms. Adler."

"Oh, it's 'Ms. Adler' now, is it?" she asked as she came up to stand beside him. "That's not what you called me in Karachi." Her tone held nothing but amusement, and perhaps a little fondness.

"Karachi was a one-off," he muttered, then looked over at her. "For both of us, it would seem."

Irene waved a hand in dismissal. Her hair was still long, though now it was an unnatural shade of scarlet and braided down her back. Her designer dresses had been replaced with skinny indigo jeans, dark green suede boots, and a matching woolen cape. "I do stray to that side of the fence once in a while, though I must say, you have ruined me for all other consulting detectives."

Sherlock smirked. "What made you think I'm shopping for Dr. Hooper? It could be for Mrs. Hudson."

"No one gives their landlady diamond earrings," Irene smirked back, "unless she is performing duties above and beyond that of a typical landlady. I understand Martha was quite a dancer in her youth, does she still have the moves?"

His imagination refused to provide any images along those lines, for which he was extremely grateful. Still, he shuddered. "No, your first deduction was correct."

"So, the cat has finally caught the mouse," Irene said, beaming. "Bravo! You know, I was hoping to be the one to console the poor dear after you tired of her, but I can see by your presence here today that that's not going to happen."

He raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"It's the last weekend before Valentine's Day, surely you've noticed," she said, waving a hand to indicate the red and pink decorations scattered throughout the store.

Sherlock groaned quietly. _That would also explain the horrendous crowd._ "If you must know, February 14th is also Molly's birthday."

"Ah," Irene said, grinning. "Then I suggest you double-up – you don't want her to think you remembered one date and forgot the other."

Sherlock stiffened. He hated it when anyone implied that he was less than the perfect boyfriend for Molly. "She has no interest in Valentine's Day, she told me so herself."

"That's because she knows you have no interest in it. You don't have to go out of your comfort zone, just do something small but meaningful to acknowledge the day." She smiled a bit. "And please, for the love of God, don't get her anything practical."

Sherlock smirked, relaxing. "What if 'practical' is exactly what she wants?"

"Trust me, it isn't – not for her birthday and certainly not for Valentine's Day. If there is something practical she wants, surprise her with it on a normal Tuesday."

"If you insist."

An hour later, Sherlock walked out of Harrods, grinning to himself. In his shopping bags were a heart-shaped trinket box that played "Beauty and the Beast," a round yellow diamond pendant on a gold chain, and the hand-held vacuum Molly had had her eye on the last time they went shopping, all expertly-wrapped. _The day before is a Tuesday, after all._


	75. 01 She's a Doll

A/N: Inspired by a Tumblr post started by trevenant - "If the person in possession of my voodoo doll would PLEASE hug it." MizJoely reblogged it and added, "soulmate au." This also fills the March 16th prompt - "small injuries." Rated T. Stand-alone. In case it's not clear, Sherlock and Molly haven't met yet.

* * *

Faking his death all on his own was one of the hardest things Sherlock Holmes ever did. (The "support" Mycroft offered being less helpful than his older brother liked to claim.) Dismantling Moriarty's network was far easier and much more satisfying.

It was in one of the consulting criminal's many London hideouts that Sherlock found something unusual. Besides the expected whips and chains (gifts from Irene, no doubt), he found a voodoo doll. It wasn't of himself or anyone he recognized. The cloth doll was of a woman, if the tiny, cherry-embroidered jumper and lock of long, brown, undoubtedly human hair on top were anything to go by.

Sherlock didn't believe in voodoo (or any religion, for that matter), but he couldn't help feeling sorry for the doll and the woman it supposedly represented. The doll was studded with pins – the forehead, both eyes, the throat, the lower abdomen, both hands, and both feet each had a long pin shoved into it.

Despite the long and growing list of things he needed to do, Sherlock sat down on the nearby sofa then held the doll gently in one hand as he slowly removed each pin with the other. When the last pin, the one in its forehead, had been removed, he did something so completely out of character, he wondered if someone had made a doll of him and was now controlling his actions. Sherlock hugged the doll to his chest, hoping despite the absurdity of his actions that the woman, whoever she was, would have some measure of peace.

* * *

On the other side of London, Molly Hooper gasped. All the aches she had felt for weeks, ever since she'd dumped that jerk Jim, were suddenly gone. Instead, she felt a sense of rightness like she'd never known.

* * *

Gently wrapping the doll in his handkerchief, Sherlock placed it in the pocket of his jacket, some sentimental part of him wanting to keep it safe always, the practical part of him wanting to find out who this woman was. _Moriarty must have a file on her somewhere._


	76. 02 Pocket-Sized

A/N: This is a sequel to "She's a Doll." It also fills the December 12th prompt - "I carried it in my pocket."

* * *

Sherlock kept the voodoo doll in the pocket of whatever coat or jacket he wore the entire time he was playing dead. He liked to reach into his pocket and give the doll a gentle squeeze just before he did anything knowingly dangerous. It gave him a measure of comfort.

Whenever he finally slept for a few hours, something that didn't happen nearly as often as it should, he would clutch the little doll to his chest, like a little boy with his teddy bear. It made him feel like he was protecting the woman the doll represented.

After quite a bit of searching, he finally found out who that woman was – Dr. Margaret Anne Hooper, who went by the nickname Molly. The unfortunate woman was Jim's ex-girlfriend. After calling in a favor to his brother, Sherlock found out she was also a complete innocent who happened to unknowingly date the world's only consulting criminal exactly three times before dumping him. Sherlock vowed to give her the doll as soon as Moriarty's entire network was eliminated.

It took two years for that day to finally come. After reuniting with Mrs. Hudson, Graham, and John and meeting John's fiancée Mary, Sherlock was determined to find Molly Hooper. A quick search told him she had moved since dumping Moriarty and that her new house was a stone's throw from his own Baker Street flat. Normally not a man to believe in coincidence, he decided that for once, the universe was trying to tell him something.

Since it was early November and the weather was definitely cooler, he impulsively bought a long, yellow, knit scarf as a present for the woman who unknowingly made his "afterlife" easier. After carefully wrapping the doll in it, he carried the bundle as he walked the two blocks to her house.

Climbing the three steps then knocking on her front door were the most nerve-wracking moments of his life. His heart was about to pound out of his chest by the time the door opened and Sherlock was finally face-to-face with her. Molly Hooper was just as her file indicated – 5'3", thirty-one, brown hair, brown eyes. But she seemed tinier, younger, and more beautiful than even the photographs had shown.

Her beautiful, amazing eyes widened when she saw him. "It's you!"


	77. 03 In Her Dreams

A/N: This fills the July 18th prompt - "Write about a recurring dream." Rated T. Third and last part of the "She's a Doll" miniseries.

* * *

Molly stared at the man who, until this point, she had only seen in her dreams. "It's you!" She wanted to reach out and hug him but she settled for standing aside so he could step into the foyer. That's when she noticed the balled-up scarf in his hand. "Um, I can take your scarf and coat if you want."

"Er, actually, the scarf is for you." His voice was like black velvet or smooth dark chocolate.

Molly was ready to melt. _Oh God, I'm in so much trouble…_ "For me?" _Wonderful. You're sure to impress him with those wits, Hooper._

He grinned and his handsome face reached a whole new level of devastating. "Yes. But I want to explain myself first. Is there somewhere we can sit down?"

"Oh! Um, sure." She led him to the sitting room, where her cat Toby was taking a nap in the chair. She was about to shoo the cat off when the man chuckled.

"It's fine, we can sit on the sofa," he said, amused.

"Okay." Molly sat down and he sat a respectful distance from her.

Holding the bundle in his left hand, he held out his right to her. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Molly Hooper," she said as she shook it. Then it hit her. "Oh! You're that detective. I heard about you faking your death. Um, this may sound weird, but I wish I could've helped you with that. I'm a pathologist, by the way."

He smirked. "Yes, I know. You would've been much more help than my brother was."

She found she couldn't meet his eyes. "You … um … you went up against my ex-boyfriend."

"That brings us to why I'm here." He unwrapped the scarf, revealing a voodoo doll with a lock of her hair and a very familiar, albeit doll-size, jumper.

Molly could feel her jaw drop. "That's … that's me!"

He smiled gently. "Yes. Since I couldn't find any evidence that Moriarty was a voodoo practitioner, someone must have made it for him. I found it in one of his hide-outs after our confrontation, full of pins."

"God… I don't believe in voodoo and yet… That bastard. This might explain how much physical pain I was in after I dumped him. I kept thinking that I should've felt on top of the world, but I could barely get out of bed most days." She thought back to that time, almost two years ago. "But then the aches suddenly stopped."

He cleared his throat a bit. "Er, yes, that would be the day I found the doll and removed the pins."

She stared at him. _He did that for me? I mean, it?_ "As soon as they stopped, I felt this … well, warm and fuzzy feeling, like everything was right with the world."

The man beside her blushed slightly. "I … um … may have given the doll a hug once I freed it from the pins."

Molly smiled a bit. "You must've done something else, because that's also when I started to have this recurring dream about lying next to a tall, dark-haired man. I could only see your face in the moonlight, when there was enough moonlight, and, um, I could feel your arms around me. I wanted to hold you back but I could never move my arms."

He cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "Yes, I … um … would hold the doll as I slept."

"Oh." _That should sound creepy but it's actually very sweet._ She reached out to take his hand. "I want to thank you for giving the doll to me, and for keeping it safe all this time."

He smiled a bit, gently squeezing her hand. "It was my pleasure."

"Would you like to, um, go out for coffee?"


	78. Precious

A/N: Inspired by the September 23rd prompt - "A time someone surprised you." TEH AU, no Tom. One-shot.

* * *

Molly rubbed her sore shoulder as she walked into the women's locker room. A day of back-to-back autopsies was too much of a strain, physically and emotionally. All she wanted was dinner, a long soak in the tub, and her bed.

 _And Sherlock,_ a voice in her head whispered.

 _Please, Sherlock is probably on the other side of the planet right now._ She unlocked her locker and opened it, gasping when an all-too-familiar person appeared in the mirror. Whirling around, she stared at the man who had just been occupying her thoughts.

His grin was anything but apologetic. "Hello, Molly. The mission is complete, I'm back for good."

Too emotional for words, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his coat, praying he couldn't feel how she was trembling. Sherlock froze for a moment then slowly, hesitantly wrapped his arms around her.

"You were frightened for me," he murmured, sounding amazed.

"Of course I was," Molly said quietly, her voice muffled by his coat. "Two years of hunting down Moriarty's men with no contact at all." She lifted her head to look up at him. "You could've died, Sherlock, and I would never know."

He smiled at her softly and Molly held her breath. "I am fine. Hale, whole, and hearty, with just a few new scars to add to my collection." He blinked in surprise when she rolled her eyes. "Not your point." He sighed quietly. "You're right, you wouldn't have known. I made it a point to keep you out of it."

"But why?"

"For your protection. I didn't want you anywhere near Moriarty's web again." He bought his hands up to cradle her face as he lowered his voice. "I would rather die than lose you, Molly Hooper."

The intensity in his eyes was too much, she had to look away. "Yes, I know, I'm important to the Work. You need access to bodies and the lab."

"What I need, Molly, is you – mind, body, soul … and heart."

She gasped again then stared up at him.

Sherlock gazed back, his smile amused and loving. "Two years is more than enough time to realize what really matters."

Molly would've said something to that, but she was too busy kissing him.


End file.
